


Longer Than I Should Admit

by SaloonMistress74



Series: Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All) [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Almost Kiss, Chivalry is not dead, Cole to the rescue, Comfort, Cullen is dreamy, Dorian BFF, Dreams, Drunk Trevelyan, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Heartache, Holding back, Kiss her already!, Kissing, Light Angst, Longing, Love is awesome, Maker's Breath!, Mouth-to-Mouth, Pain, Pray to the Maker, Romance, Slow Build, Spoilers, Squee, Tags May Change, lots and lots of fluff, so much cheese
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaloonMistress74/pseuds/SaloonMistress74
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eveyln Trevelyan: That day you kissed me on the battlements: How long had you wanted to do that?<br/>Cullen Rutherford: Longer than I should admit.</p><p>Here are the many delicious instances in which Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn Trevelyan...and so much more.</p><p>British/Canadian spelling...expect to see a u here and there, where you wouldn't usually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Going On Here?

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all the kudos, comments and bookmarks! It means the world to me!

Commander Cullen paced the floor of the small wood cottage near Haven’s training grounds, his booted feet heavy on the stone floor. There was no need for quiet as the small woman he guarded had been unconscious for hours, with no sign of waking. The others had done what they could with potions and healing magic, but now needed to tend to their own wounds and necessities.

Cullen knew too well how people were prone to rash behaviour in times of fear and uncertainty...and so he remained, watching over the woman who was no longer a prisoner, but a hero.

The breach in the sky was both terrifying and mysterious. The green coloured vortex was visible throughout half of Fereldan and even into parts of Orlais.

He couldn't believe it when he looked at her, but this fragile, almost otherworldly, woman laying unconscious on the cot was the one who had delivered them all from the endless spout of demons that had been continuously falling since the explosion.

There had been reports of many miracles at the temple, inspiring awe in some, and as many reports of horrifying devastation that enraged others. Both salvation and fear needed a face and, unfortunately, her face stood for both right now.

And so he stood guard, not even trusting his recruits at a time like this, to make sure that no one would harm her while she recovered… _if_ she recovered at all. She was so still, it was hard to know which way it would turn out.

She'd certainly given everything she had when she'd faced the Pride Demon and Shades that had come through the rift, and then to close the rift itself.

One of the reports he'd received from his soldiers at the scene indicated that, as they'd faced the Pride Demon and its lightning whip had come down upon them suddenly, the “Herald” – as they had begun to call her – had thrown up a barrier to shield them all, leaving her open to the slash of a Shade’s claws. Cullen could see where the wounds, now healed, had been. He could see the faint, puckered skin through the shredded material of her tunic.

_It_ _must have been a terribly painful wound_ , he thought sympathetically.

It had been a fierce battle at the temple and it was just the last of so many over the days since the explosion at the Conclave. _How many more will there be, Maker?_

His body and mind had been in a constant state of stress and even in that moment, with a few hours to relax, the adrenaline still flooded his systems. It brought with it the sharpness to his senses that had always helped him in battle. Now, however, his sharp senses took in every sensory clue as to who this mysterious woman was.

He hadn't seen her in battle, but could imagine how formidable she might look with her staff twirling around her. Now, though, he could only see how vulnerable she looked as she lay there. He felt a strange urge to protect her, the small-but-mighty warrior, while she slept. It bothered him, more than it should, to see her in that state.

He couldn’t quite understand the visceral reaction to her, a stranger. He wondered if it was fatigue or even lyrium withdrawal that brought on these fanciful musings. He thought that she was fairly attractive, but couldn't put his finger on what it was that pulled at him.

Though there was a fire in the small hearth, half of the room was still in shadow, including the place where her cot had been placed. He moved closer to her bedside - _just to get a better look_ \- he thought, hoping to be able to find some answers and finding only more questions.

He could tell that she was fair. Even if she had been healthy and hale, she would still be as pale as cream and he noted that her skin was near flawless, with out marks or scars beyond tiny superficial scratches. _Like marble...,_ he thought and Cullen had to curl his hand into a fist to stop himself from reaching out to touch her cheek to check its softness.

He, very gently, picked up her hand to examine her skin there instead. He ignored the green pulse of the mysterious mark in her palm and noted that her hands were free of calluses. She was definitely not used to combat; her hand only bore the small cuts and scratches of the battle she had just fought. He knew she was a mage, but she was no battlemage.

There were many schools of magic and some circles even specialized in different talents. Cullen imagined that the Lady’s talents would be more defensive than offensive, as evidenced by her skill with barriers, and may even run more to healing talents.

There was one thing for certain in Cullen's mind, however; whoever she was and wherever she came from, she did not cause the explosion at the Temple. Every gift that he possessed to assess situations and people told him that plainly.

She moaned very slightly in her sleep. _This_ , he thought, _is a gentle soul_. He rubbed his thumb across the delicate pad of her palm in comfort.

She had occasionally been heard by others to murmur a few words as she lay there. 'What's going on here?', 'Spiders' and 'Run' were the things she'd whispered already while Cullen alone had been with her.

"Help me...help, please!" she whined softly, her head twitching minutely in her sleep.

He squeezed her fingers once to reassure her, unsure if she could even feel it.

Bringing his focused gaze back to her face, he noticed the faint tracks where hours old tear stains dried on her cheeks. He did touch her face then, gently breaking up the path that ran down one side of her face, smudging it with his thumb as though he could erase some of what had brought the tears there. Had they been tears of pain or fear? Perhaps both.

She calmed again, and went deeper into her sleep. Cullen kept her hand in his, just to let her know somehow that she was not alone.

He found himself wondering what colour her eyes were. _Blue…_ yes, he imagined that they would be blue eyes to go with her fair colouring of creamy skin, platinum hair and pale lips. He noticed that those lips were so delicate and pink, they were like the inside of a sea shell and looked just as smooth.

He didn’t realize how closely he was inspecting her lips, close enough to feel the soft exhale of her breath…

A sharp knock came at the door and Cullen shot off the side of the cot like he’d been burned, cheeks flushing furiously and mind whirling to understand his behaviour. He tried to school his thoughts once more, thankful for the flickering fire light to hide his expression, as Cassandra poked her head through the entrance.

“Commander, I’m here to relieve you.” She said, her accent making her sound more clipped than he knew she intended. “I’ve eaten and I've already seen to the horses."

"I was not injured beyond what a healing potion could fix on the field.” As a Seeker, Cassandra, was efficient and tough, but also a truly compassionate and devout woman.

“She was remarkable out there." Cassandra said as she eyed the Herald for a moment before looking thoughtfully at Cullen. "I don’t know what our next steps will be, Commander...I feel so unsure about so many things right now, but I believe that we need this woman. Life as we know it is changing and she has a role to play. Andraste preserve her.” Awe tinged her voice in a way that surprised him. Truer words could not have been spoken, however.

As he looked back at the sleeping figure, he thought about that truth…his life had just changed. He could feel it to his core. He didn’t know how or why or what it all meant, but he just had a knowing that there was no going back from what the Maker had put before him, before all of them.

Cullen gave a quick nod to Cassandra and, confident that she could handle anything that might come up, slipped out the door and into the chilly air of the Frostback Mountains, letting it cool his flushed skin.

_I need something to occupy my mind. Maker's Breath! Pull it together, lad._

He decided to join the other refugees and recruits in the Chantry that night as they prayed for those that had fallen in battle and for those who were in recovery.

If, while reciting the Chant of Light, instead of visualizing the loving grace and golden visage of Andraste, his mind brought up the ethereal creams and pinks of a different face, no one knew it but him.


	2. The Herald of Andraste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the introductions and discussion in the War Room, Cullen tries to figure out who the Herald is, but it's after the others have left that he gets a deeper look.
> 
> The second moment that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn before their kiss on the battlements.

Lady Trevelyan walked through the doorway into the War Room and all Cullen could do was stand frozen and watching.

The strange flooding of relief through his body was so foreign to him. Though he cared for all who were part of this newly minted Inquisition, it was her and her alone for whom he’d sought news of recovery. Something stirred in him and he was helpless to resist the curiosity that brought him to life as nothing had in ages.

All the advisors knew by now who the lady was; a Mage from the former Ostwick Circle of Magi. Cullen had been secretly pleased to hear it. He knew that Ostwick had been one of the more stable Circles and that many of its Mages and Templars had remained with the Chantry. A large portion of that number had been at the Conclave in aid to the Divine and had, unfortunately, perished there. This explained to him how Lady Trevelyan had come to be at the Temple of Sacred Ashes herself.

It also meant that she would likely not look at him with contempt for being a former Templar and he found that that mattered to him a great deal.

The Lady, however, besides having met Leliana briefly and having fought alongside Cassandra at the Temple, didn’t know her other would-be colleagues and so Cassandra made sure that proper introductions were made.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” She began.

Cullen let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Such as they are.”  He looked sheepishly at the ground before looking back up into the lady’s eyes.

He had been right. Her eyes were blue. It was astonishing to him to feel the zing of awareness as he was drawn into their sapphire depths. He then thought about what those eyes had recently seen and recognized that he should acknowledge what had happened at the Temple.

“We lost many soldiers in the valley and I fear many more before this is through.” He added solemnly.

Lady Trevelyan nodded in agreement.

As the others were introduced, Cullen listened and watched. It had been part of his training, of course, to assess his charges in the Circles, to learn them as it were. He had been taught to look for how a Mage held their magic, where they were likely to channel it and what kind of control they had over both their magic and the emotions that often fueled it. _Old habits die hard_ , he thought, as he did his perfunctory assessment of Lady Trevelyan.

Her magic hummed - no, sang - in her aura. Even without lyrium he could hear it, clean and resonant, astonishing in its masterful clarity. It indicated powerful magic, but also that it was very stable and controlled. Cullen let out another breath.

Some magic showed itself as colours in the auric field, some as sound. He’d even met a Mage once whose magic seemed to give off a particularly pungent, earthy odor. That man had lived a quiet life in the garden greenhouse of the Fereldan Circle, happily tending to the vegetables and flowers, mixing concoctions for the soil, allowing the farms around Kinloch Hold to prosper in times of drought the way no others did at the time.  The other Mages and Templars were happy that he and his malodorous magic had been relegated to the greenhouse.  The Mage had been so far from the Circle proper when Kinloch Hold had been taken over by abominations that he had been spared the slaughter.  Cullen thought perhaps the Maker had smiled on the man with that particular gift.

Coming back to the moment, Cullen realized that they had moved on in the conversation.  He continued with his assessment as he listened to the women speak, only speaking himself to suggest that they enlist the help of the Templars, instead of the Mages, to seal the Breach.

As controlled as he believed Lady Trevelyan’s magic to be, how much magic could be poured into her, through her, without it harming her? Even with the unknown potential of the mark on her hand, how could they think to do that to this woman when suppressing the Breach would be a safer alternative for all concerned?

He argued for it, but was eventually out numbered. He’d bring it up again as they got closer to being able to secure either group, as Josephine was pointing out they were nowhere near either possibility.

“The Chantry has denounced the Inquisition.”  She said pointedly.  “And you specifically.” She punctuated this statement with a stab of her quill in Lady Trevelyan’s direction.

The Lady looked hurt by that, a weary sadness came over her features. Cullen imagined that she wasn’t used to people thinking ill of her.

“They still think I’m guilty.” She said quietly. It wasn’t a question, just an acknowledgement of what was.

Cullen was impressed by her poise and the grace with which she seemed to be handling the situation and noted that she only became flustered when she was told that she was being touted as “The Herald Of Andraste.”

“Just how am **_I_** the Herald of Andraste?” She asked incredulously, but listened thoughtfully as Cassandra and Leliana tried to explain the title.

Cullen couldn’t help himself, he had to test, to prod.

“That’s quite the title, isn’t it?” He pressed. “How do you feel about that?”

She took a moment to answer. “It’s…a little unsettling…”

Cullen had to laugh at that. “I’m sure the Chantry would agree.” 

“People are desperate for a sign of hope. For some, you’re that sign.” Leliana reassured her.

“And to others, a symbol of everything that’s gone wrong.” Josephine said, echoing Cullen’s concern from the day he guarded her.

That’s when he saw it, the minute flash of fear in her eyes and the slight movement of her lips. Instantly the thinnest barrier he’d ever seen had sprung up around her, like a skin. It was likely unnoticed by the others and he might not have noticed it himself had he not spent the last 20 years training to look for such things. He imagined that this was her defense mechanism to any sense of threat.

It also revealed to him that she likely channeled her magic primarily through her mouth, through words, other sounds or perhaps even her breath.  

Most Mages channeled magic through their hands – and he suspected that she could also, if she chose to – and others channeled it through their mouth or eyes. A Templar always needed to know how a Mage focused their magic so that they could better supress it, if need be.

But Cullen wasn’t a Templar anymore and though the Herald was a Mage, he didn’t feel concern about that condition as he had about other Mages in the past. Now, he was just curious to know about her.

After they all had reassured the Herald that the Chantry wouldn’t be attacking, a relieved little whistle had the thin barrier around her pop like a bubble.

He was right. No one had noticed.

The rest of the meeting went quickly with the Herald agreeing to meet with Mother Giselle in the Hinterlands as soon as possible and accepting the task of securing horses from Master Dennet at Redcliffe Farms. The meeting concluded.

Leliana, Cassandra and Josephine filed out of the War Room, anxious to return to their duties. Cullen had initially done the same, but noticed that the Herald hadn’t followed them out.

Turning around, Cullen quietly looked around the corner of the door frame to find the Herald with her back against the wall, hands pressed to her sides, eyes closed and lips pressed firmly together. She made no noise, but for the breathing that she was desperately trying to get control of that had her shoulders shaking slightly. He watched as moisture pooled in the corners of her shut eyes, overflowed, and one fat tear escaped.

“My Lady?” Cullen whispered as gently as possible.

“C..Commander..” She gasped. Her eyes were slightly swollen and redness flushed her cheeks. “Maker! I’m so…” She sniffed, trying for composure. “I’m so sorry…I’m fine…” She insisted. “I’m just a bit tired.”

Cullen knew better. He handed her his handkerchief, which she accepted gratefully, and waited for her to speak when she was ready.

She hiccupped twice before she was able to.

“Oh, Maker! I don’t know what I’m doing!” She whispered.

She looked at him and just stood there, shaking her head, her mouth slightly agape.

“I…I’ve never been anywhere…not _anywhere_.” She stuttered. “Attending the Conclave with the Divine was the first time I’d been outside of the Circle grounds since I arrived when I was eight. The grounds weren’t large and I always knew where I was going, where I’d be.”

Cullen looked at her patiently, willing her to continue.

“I don’t know where I’m going here. In Haven, I run from one end to the other without finding what I’m looking for. I can barely remember where everything is and who does what.” She looked at him, directly into his eyes then.

“Blessed Maker, the world is so big!” She choked.

Cullen instinctively moved forward into her space, intending to comfort her, but stopped himself short of reaching out to hold her.

Evelyn reached forward though and very lightly grasped his furred wrap. “Now I’m to go to the Hinterlands. I’m not an adventurer. I know nothing of scouting or camp life…I….I…”

“You feel lost?” He offered.

Her wide eyes dropped closed in confirmation. “Yes.” She sighed.

With her hands holding him there and her eyes closed, the urge to lean forward and slide his lips over hers was so overwhelming, he wasn’t sure that he didn’t growl as he stepped back from her and she released her hold.

He placed his hands on _her_ shoulders to reassure and steady her.

“My Lady, you are not alone.” He affirmed. “We are all out of our element in this and your concerns are valid and natural.” He paused. “You’ll have all the help at my disposal and I promise you that everyone will use whatever gifts they possess to work with you every step of the way.” He hoped that it was what she needed to hear.

She sniffed and nodded again, offering him a slight smile.

“Please, you may always speak to me when you need to, whenever you feel overwhelmed.” He let his hands slide from her shoulders and leaned into her slightly to whisper in her ear, “Our secret.” Enticing that smile from her again.

“Thank you, Commander. I do feel better now. I just want so badly to help and yet feel so helpless at the same time.” She confessed.

“Would it help you to know that I feel the same way right now?” He asked.

“Yes.” She laughed.

“Then let that be our secret too.”

She smiled then and nodded shyly, slipping past him and through the doorway only to turn a moment later to express her gratitude. “Thank you, Commander, truly.”

“At your service, My Lady.” He bowed and watched as she turned again and made her way through the Chantry hall.


	3. Meditation In The Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen meets the Herald at the Storm Coast and she tries to help him with his headache.
> 
> The third time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn before their kiss on the battlements!

Cullen and his recruits arrived midday at the Storm Coast. The Mage/Templar war, the demons and the rifts, had taken his soldiers all over Fereldan so far and who knew where else they’d have to journey before they were through.

His recruits had trained in the snowy conditions of the Frostbacks, the rolling hills and flat lands of the Hinterlands and even the marshlands of the Fallow Mire, but the Storm Coast offered unique terrain and the constant pressure of rain and wind. It was miserable, but if the scouts and soldiers could handle this, Cullen hoped they’d be able to handle anything.

As it was the Herald and her party happened to be in the area, a small rift having opened up on one of the small, rocky islands just off the coast and they were to merge camps that night before the Herald headed back to Haven. Cullen would follow only a day later when Captain Rylan arrived to take over supervision. Cullen was only too happy to have a couple of nights away from the bustle of Haven and the fact that _she_ would be here as well…he tried not to think about how much he was anticipating spending time with her, however briefly.

The Inquisition had come to an arrangement with the rebel Mages of Redcliffe only a week ago and they were now in Haven, training under Solas to prepare to seal the Breach.  They needed to be ready for any eventuality. If the Breach sealed, they would focus on finding the Elder One and stamping out the Venatori before turning to ending the war between Mages and Templars throughout Thedas. If they were not successful in sealing the Breach then it was likely that demons and rifts would be part of their lives until they could find another way…not a savory thought.  No matter what, they needed to be prepared.

 _Maker watch over us,_ he thought.

Cullen straightened his sodden tabard over his armour, making sure that the fur aligned on his shoulders and headed out in search of the Herald.

                                                                                                                         

* * *

 

 _What a difference a few months can make,_ Cullen thought as he watched the Herald pitch her tent across the grounds with ease and laugh with her companions as they replenished their potions and organized their goods to fill the endless list of requisitions.

Remembering her concerns when the Inquisition had started, he couldn’t help but be impressed by her progress. No one did her work for her, she pulled her weight with her team and it was obvious that they respected her.

Cassandra had become so protective, bristling with irritation whenever someone tried to disparage the Inquisition or the Herald. It was clear that they had cemented a deep friendship, spending hours talking about family, faith and change within the Chantry. As devout an Andrastian already as one could be, he could see a renewed fire within Cassandra as the Herald opened her up to fresh ideas and interpretations. Cullen was genuinely happy for the two women that they had overcome their first experience with each other as prisoner and jailor to have such a concrete friendship.

Varric, too, had been won over so quickly it was almost comical. Cullen knew Varric to be a jovial and easy going dwarf, but having known Varric somewhat in Kirkwall, he knew that his loyalty was steadfast, but hard earned. His humour was often used as a buffer, making people feel comfortable around him, disarming them without giving too much of himself away. The only other exception Cullen could think of being Varric’s relationship with Hawke. Cullen suspected that both, having lost so much of their own families, considered each other family now.

Watching Varric with the Herald though was fascinating. There was a tenderness and reverence in his voice when he spoke to her or of her. He was always prepared and eager to help her whenever she asked him. If Cullen had to speculate, he would say that the dwarf thought of the Herald as the miracle that everyone else seemed to think she was. He imagined that, as a storyteller, Varric knew a rare breed of heroine when he saw one. Cullen thought that it might have been one of the best testaments of her character that he could think of.

Out of her current traveling companions, only her relationship with Dorian troubled him. Not because the Tevinter had done anything particularly suspicious or untoward, but if he were to admit it to himself, he was jealous of the time the two spent together. They poured over tomes, discussed research, debated theories and the importance of different branches of magic. Though they flirted lightly, it didn’t seem to go below the surface and Cullen didn’t see any overt romantic interest from either of them.  Both being Mages, though, gave them a kinship and connection that Cullen couldn’t hope for. Whenever he saw the two together, it stirred feelings in him that he’d rather not examine too closely.

In fact, since their first formal introduction, months ago, Cullen had pulled professionalism around him like a cloak. True to his word, he had become someone with whom the Herald could confide in, but he kept to the role of advisor as much as possible. He had been tested on that once or twice when she’d asked him some very personal questions one day, after returning from Val Royeaux, a minor stammer the only thing that had betrayed his reaction to her.

He was, frankly, astonished that he’d been as successful as he had been all this time. Everything about her drew him in. The more he discovered about her, the more anchored his feelings were.

Cullen had made a study of the Herald whenever he found himself in her presence. He had discovered that she was truly introverted. He’d observed that she made better decisions and came up with more insightful suggestions when she had been given privacy to gather her thoughts, preferring written reports to verbal ones. Cullen had learned to give her time with information and had reaped the benefit of her clever mind with his willingness to be patient.

When they did have to meet in the War Room with the others, he'd noticed that she’d stand against the wall or in the corner of the room, listening, but not being too active in the discussions, especially when they became heated. When there was need of her, however, she would rise to the occasion to speak as “The Herald” to nobles and petitioners. When she did though, Cullen would invariably see her sneak off to her small cabin as soon as possible, likely to enjoy some quiet and recharge…not unlike himself.

She was so selfless and part of him wanted to protect her from that part of herself that sometimes gave too much. He knew it wasn’t his place and he had tried to keep a professional distance most of the time, but sometimes, when he noticed that she was in need, he took whatever action he could to make her more comfortable, even if it was without her knowledge.

Once, he’d noticed that though the Herald could request anything of the merchants or craftspeople of Haven and they would all have gone out of their way to find or create whatever she needed, the Herald asked for nothing. She often made sure that the best armour and weapons went to those most directly in the path of danger. She would gather fine leathers and metals on the road only to commission pieces for her crew and then whatever was left over would be given to the Quartermaster to fill requisitions.

Her own modest armour had consisted of bits and pieces taken from fallen Templars, Mages or bandits. Cullen had taken action the day she arrived in camp wearing bracers that he was sure had once belonged to a darkspawn.

Finding a merchant on the outskirts of Redcliffe village, Cullen himself had purchased a good amount of dragonling scales and pilfered  his own stash of onyx to bring to Harritt, the blacksmith and master leatherworker, so that he could secretly craft new leathers in her size and a staff that accentuated her particular branch of magic.

When Harritt was finished, Cullen had had two of Leliana’s agents travel just outside of her campsite with a chest full of small items the team could use, the dragonling leathers that would fit no one else and the staff that would suit her so perfectly. When the Herald “happened” upon them, the agents had told her that they’d been scouting the area and had found some items that might be of use. Clever, if he thought so himself.

When the party had returned a week later, Cullen couldn’t help but admire how well the Enchanter’s Coat had looked on her. The garnet of the dragonling scales setting off the sapphire of her eyes perfectly. The staff was an art piece in itself and he had reveled in her obvious pleasure when she came to show him what had been “found” by the scouts.

Of the companions, only the Iron Bull seemed to have figured out where the kit had truly come from, having seen the unfinished pieces from his tent beside the smithy.

As the Herald had danced away to show Cassandra the find, Bull had come over, cocked an eyebrow at Cullen and laughed. “Nice choice, Templar! Did you have to pay extra for that new schematic?”

At the surprised look on Cullen’s face, he’d added, “No worries, Commander, I probably would've done the same thing eventually. I’m glad someone did, but tell me,” he’d paused, “Why dragonling?”

“The reports suggested that she’s engaged a shocking number of Rage Demons near the rifts. I thought that the fire resistance would come in handy.” Cullen had responded with a straight face.

“And she sure does look good in red, eh, Templar?”

Cullen had coughed slightly before catching himself and looked straight down at the report he’d been holding.

“Yes, yes she does,” he said, the merest smile coming to his lips.

Bull had laughed out loud at that, slapped him on the back and walked away, still snickering.

Sometimes Cullen really disliked Qunari.

 

* * *

 

 

The rain hadn’t let up for a moment. There would be no training that night after their march to the Coast and so the recruits had elected to retire early to their own makeshift barracks in order to be ready for whatever the Commander had planned for them the next day.

Cullen had decided to join the Herald’s camp, happy just to relax for a moment without the need to constantly be in charge.

If not for the rain, he imagined that they’d all sit out by the fire for quite some time, but as it was only he, the Herald and Cassandra were still lumbering around the camp, making sure the supplies were high up and secure. Dorian and Varric had decided to play Wicked Grace in one of the nearby tents. Colourful swearing, the only sounds loud enough to make it to their ears. He couldn’t tell who was winning.

With the last of the supplies secured, Cassandra too made her escape into her small, cozy tent.

The Herald looked over at him with a questioning look. “Are you ready for sleep as well, Commander, or would you be willing to keep me company for a while longer?”

Cullen’s heart practically catapulted into his throat! “I’m willing..uh…that is, I wasn’t planning on turning in just yet. I’d, um, be happy to talk for a while, if you’d like.” The words rushed out from him before she could rescind her request. Cullen rolled his eyes in the darkness at his own awkwardness.

They settled into the little lean-to that had been constructed near the fire pit. The pit was empty but for the soaked logs that could offer no warmth. Cullen rubbed his hands together to try and revive some small amount of heat, unwilling to acknowledge any discomfort in front of the Herald if he could help it.

Looking at his hands, she winked at Cullen and with a quick word set a small shield around the lean-to and fire pit, effectively blocking out the persistent rain.

“I can’t do it all the time because you never know when you’re going to need all of your mana…but with you and the troops here tonight, I feel as though I can expend a little bit…just for this,” she confessed.

In the next breath (literally, she used her breath) she drew heat from the earth and concentrated it toward the wet logs, drying them nearly instantly. Before Cullen could blink the fire was cheery and the warmth spread through him like the sun breaking through on a cloudy day. He let a deep, satisfied sigh escape and the Herald giggled.

“That’s incredible,” he practically purred.

He’d known by then that her magic was elemental in nature, not the healing magic that he’d first imagined, and that creating a barrier was the only kind of force magic in her repertoire. In the reports he’d learned that her elemental mastery tended toward temperature change, with cold being the most dominant. He’d been told that her electric and spirit talents were sketchy at best, but with the ice that she was able to produce and a well-placed fire blast, she was more than formidable.

“I haven’t been able to use my magic in a nurturing way since I left the Circle really,” she reflected. “I was a really good Weather-Mage once upon a time.”

She looked away for a moment as if to collect herself. “I don’t particularly like using the skills in battle that I’d learned to help local farmers warm their fields after an early frost, shield the village from heavy storms or cool the crops after a scorching summer day.” She looked back to Cullen then. “But, I’m thankful for the gifts given to me by the Maker and when I’m facing a Rage Demon, I’m very thankful to know that Winter's Grasp spell!”

Cullen tried to lighten the moment. “You know, when we first met, I would have put 20 silvers on you being a healer.”

“A healer?” She laughed. “I’m absolutely rubbish at healing. Andraste knows I tried my best. My First-Enchanter was so disappointed in me.”

She gave Cullen a sideways look then. “But I made up for it, I think. I became the best potion maker in Ostwick. I can whip up a restoration or lyrium potion faster than anyone and with fewer ingredients too! I’ve found so many wonderful herbs on our travels. I love bringing them back to Adan and helping him figure out how to make the potions more potent and last longer.” She said enthusiastically.

Looking fully at Cullen then. “That must sound really boring,” she laughed at herself.

Cullen could only smile. “So _that’s_ why our stores are practically brimming with herbs, potions and anti-venoms. I think it’s rather a remarkable skill, my Lady.”

She seemed to flush a little, perhaps it was just the warmth from the fire.

There was a time of silence between the two. Cullen was slightly surprised to find that it wasn’t at all uncomfortable.

After a while, however, Cullen could feel the tell-tale pressure that told him another headache was on its way. He wished it wouldn’t, not with the company he was keeping tonight, but he knew it was fruitless to try and wish it away once it made its presence known. He rubbed his neck to try to ease it as best he could.

The Herald noticed that of course, perceptive as she was. “Are you alright, Commander?”

“Yes. It’s nothing that I can’t handle. A persistent headache and that’s all.” His voice sounded wearier than he’d intended.

“Won’t you let me mix you a potion right now? I could have it ready in 10 minutes.” She rose to see to it.

“No, no. Please, my Lady. Save the supplies. The relief would only be temporary and I assure you, I can endure it.” He professed.

Eyeing him thoughtfully, the Herald scooched closer to where he was sitting on the bench and placed a hand on one of his leather wrapped legs. “Then would you be willing to try something?” She asked. “It’s something I used in the Circle for many years, mostly at night when I couldn’t go to the potions room to make myself something.”

In that moment he wouldn’t have denied her anything. Her hand practically burned through his leather breeches where it rested and his head spun at her touch.

“Uh, of course,” he breathed.

Her resulting smile was brilliant and Cullen thought that if she hadn’t done anything else, that would have been enough.

She turned him to face her on the bench and gently took his large hands into her smaller ones. His breath was so shallow, he could barely think of anything but the texture of her skin as she skimmed her thumbs lightly over the tops of his fingers for a moment.

“Now, close your eyes, Commander…uh, may I call you by your first name for this?” She asked tentatively.

“Y..yes, of course. Of course, that would be fine.” He replied breathlessly.

“Alright, close your eyes now…Cullen,” she said, her voice dropping into a deep and pleasing tone.

He did what she said immediately, letting his eyelids fall closed.

“Now, just listen to my voice. Cullen, listen only to my voice and let every other sound just fade away.” She said almost in a sing-song way and Cullen found it nearly impossible to do anything but what she commanded. If this was any kind of magic, he couldn’t have cared less.

“Cullen,” she cooed, “allow yourself to take a deep breath.” She took it with him, breathing loudly and deeply. “As you release each breath, allow all your tension to leave with it. Imagine, all the weariness and heaviness lifting away from you and out through your breath.”

She let him breathe for a short time and as he did, he found a rhythm to it. Breathing in when she did, breathing out when she did, he became so in tune with her and did indeed discover that some of the pressure at the back of his head had begun to ease off.

“Cullen, I’d like you to imagine, now, a beautiful place. Just imagine the most beautiful or peaceful place that you’ve ever seen. Let it be a place that makes you feel safe and loved.” She whispered.

In Cullen’s mind, he found his thoughts drifting to his favourite spot at the edge of a misty lake, near his family’s old farm in Honnleath. He could almost smell the musk of the water and hear the gentle lapping of the soft waves near the shore. He signed wistfully at the manifesting memory.

“Now," she continued, "you can also bring to your mind, to this safe and beautiful place, the image of something that makes you happy. In your mind, spend some time with this happiness and when you hear my voice again, you won’t be startled.”

And suddenly, in Cullen’s mind, standing by the shore of the lake in Honnleath, a vision of the Herald began to form, her image becoming clearer and clearer in his thoughts. Her white-gold hair shining like a halo in the sunlight and her smile unguarded, just for him. Cullen was elated with the vision.

The vision of her walked toward him in his mind and, when she was standing toe to toe with his vision-self, leaned up on her toes, raised her delicate hands to his face, whispered his name and pressed her lips gently to his.

All the pain in Cullen’s physical body disappeared instantly, only to be replaced by another kind of discomfort.

“Cullen…” He heard her flesh and bone self continue with the meditation.

His eyes snapped open and his breath caught, banishing the exquisite vision from his mind.

“Oh!” She exclaimed. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I was going to try to bring you out of the meditation slowly.”

Cullen coughed to cover his discomfort. “No need, my Lady,” he tried to tell her gently. “I found it very helpful, I assure you.”

“Is your headache much improved then?” She asked.

“Very much so, my Lady,” he said, his voice deep and rough, his eyes looking deeply into hers, his mind urging him to confess his vision to her, to make it real.

He stood up then. “But, I’ve trespassed on your time for longer than I’d intended and I have to see to the troops quite early, I’m afraid.

She stood as well and he flattered himself to think that she looked slightly disappointed.

“Thank you, for your kindness. I’m sure that I will rest far better than I would have.” He told her sincerely and, because he couldn’t resist and needed some kind of connection, he took one of the hands that were still in his and brought it gently to his lips to press a chaste kiss there before letting her hands go reluctantly.

 He bowed deeply to her and quickly made his way to his tent, using the breathing technique she had just taught him to bring himself back under his full control.

“ANDRASTE’S GREAT FLAMING ASS!!” He heard Dorian yell into the night, obviously having lost another hand to Varric.

 ** _Indeed!_**  Cullen thought to himself, before he collapsed onto his cot, fully clothed, and fell into a fast, soldier’s, sleep.


	4. Sing Only The Chant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place after the Breach has been closed and they've returned to Haven, before the attack by the Red Templars and Corypheus.
> 
> Here we have the 4th time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn Trevelyan before their first kiss on the battlements.

Cullen had marvelled at the immense power it had taken to close the Breach. Everyone present at the Temple of Sacred Ashes site had felt the impact of its closing. They had, in fact, been knocked off their feet with its discharge. Now, as Cullen looked up at the sky to see the Breach blessedly inactive, he felt the first stirring of peace that he’d felt in many years.

When they’d returned to Haven, Cullen watched the refugees, merchants and soldiers scramble around the encampment, throwing things together for some amusement and revelry.  Huge casks of ale, rolled by three or four men, were being brought to the flats near Varric’s tent and already there were fires with pots of stew and roasting meats over them to contribute to a great feast.

 _They deserve this,_ he thought. It had been so long since conflict began that he could only be happy for the people that they felt triumphant, as they should. This was a victory that they had worked months and months for and as he passed each person, smiling and laughing, he felt his heart become lighter and lighter.

Deciding on a moment of peace and reflection before he’d join the crowd, he headed into the Chantry and to the small living quarters to the right of the war room. This small room had recently been shared by Cassandra, Josephine and Leliana and they had invited him in regularly for informal meetings in the mornings or evenings when there was no need to meet in the war room. He knew that it would offer the best chance for privacy and quiet and knew that the trio wouldn’t mind him being there.

Upon entering, he sat at the edge of one of the neatly made beds. The room was so pristine; one would hardly be able to tell who had occupied it. There were no portraits or trinkets, only a few books that looked to be well read. He smiled to himself, realizing that no one had wanted to think about Haven being a place of any permanence for them. He imagined warehouses in Denerim  or Val Royeaux packed with personal belongings just waiting to be reunited with their owners.

Having lived as a Templar for the last 20 years, it struck Cullen that he currently owned nothing of note, his armour and helm being his first real purchase when he decided to leave the Order.

He had plenty of money though,  the salary given to Templars was usually sent home to their families. As Templars, what they needed had always been provided by the Order and most knights were satisfied in those offerings. Cullen, like the others, had sent his salary home to his parents, but had learned recently that they’d put aside his earnings and had made investments on his behalf so that if he ever needed it or if he’d had a family of his own, he would be taken care of.

For the first time in his life, the whisperings of what a life of his own might mean, what it might look like, came to life in his mind. Little stirrings, but intriguing. Could he work for the Inquisition, but take on an estate? Could he be a landlord to tenant farmers; able to enjoy other pursuits and still be able to work the land as he’d done in his youth?

Could he, would he, take a wife?

Unbidden, the face of the Herald formed in his mind and he shook his head to clear it again. This was not the time or the place. There was still so much left unknown about the days ahead. There were Venatori and their mysterious Elder One to contend with and restoring peace to all the warring factions across Thedas. These were no small tasks and he needed to remain focused. But still…

“Snap out of it, Rutherford!” He chastised himself sharply and brought himself back to concentrate on their current hard-earned victory.

Moving over to one of the small tables in the corner of the room, he cleared off the books and crockery and set a single candle in the center.

Lighting it with the intention to bring his thoughts to Andraste and the Maker, he knelt upon the furs piled over the flagstone floor. He placed his hands lightly upon his thighs, concentrated on the flame of the candle and began to sing, softly, his favourite part of the Chant of Light, from the Canticle of Benedictions.

_Blessed are they who stand before_  
_The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter._  
_Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just._

Cullen’s voice was pleasing and clear. His Knight-Commanders had always asked him to cant during their vigils and ceremonies, but he had always been critical of himself and preferred to sing alone most of the time, with one exception.

 As he continued singing the Benedictions, another voice joined him.

_Blessed are the righteous, the lights in the shadow._  
_In their blood the Maker's will is written._

This was a voice so pure and light, it could only have belonged to one person. He looked over to the doorway where the Herald stood with her hands lightly clasped in front of her and smiled. Even Leliana didn’t sing as beautifully as Lady Trevelyan, but he also knew that few people had ever heard the Herald actually sing.

 They both seemed to prefer reciting the Chant very late at night and had run into each other so often in the chapel that they’d created an informal routine of meeting and simply allowing each other to be present as they prayed or sang the Chant. If one began the other joined in and their harmonies became so rich that Cullen sometimes wondered if the Maker or Andraste could hear them and if They  thought it was as beautiful as he did.

 “I didn’t mean to interrupt you.” She laughed and he realized that he’d stopped singing and was just looking at her.

 “You, uh, you didn’t.” He started. “I just didn’t expect to see you here. I thought you would be celebrating with the others. It _is,_ after all, your great victory.”

 “Pfft” She huffed and swatted the compliment away with her hand. “I was just one of many and, if the truth be told,” she confided, “I’m a little overwhelmed out there. I don’t know how to respond to  all of the congratulations and the pats on my back. I feel strangely removed from it…and I’m exhausted.” She let out another puff of breath.

 Eyes pleading with Cullen, “Would you mind very much if I stayed in here with you for a moment? I won’t disturb your thoughts, unless you’d like to sing the Chant together?” Her voice lit up at the end of the question, leading him to think, perhaps, that she’d enjoyed their time together in the chapel as much as he had.

 “Alright, which canticle would you like, my Lady?” He offered cheerfully.

 “Umm…Transfigurations 10? I’ve always loved it and you do such a beautiful harmony.”

 He blushed at the compliment, but began to sing the slow chant and smiled when she knelt beside him and joined him earnestly.

 _Many are those who wander in sin,_  
_Despairing that they are lost forever,_  
_But the one who repents, who has faith_  
_Unshaken by the darkness of the world,_  
_And boasts not, nor gloats_  
_Over the misfortunes of the weak, but takes delight_  
_In the Maker's law and creations, she shall know_  
_The peace of the Maker's benediction._  

The Herald had shifted on her knees to face him and had barely touched the side of his face in a gentle leading for him to do the same. Shifting on the furs to face her, they kept up the chant and if their singing was a little breathy, neither complained.

_The Light shall lead her safely_  
_Through the paths of this world, and into the next._  
_For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water._  
_As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,_  
_She should see fire and go towards Light._  
_The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,_  
_And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker_  
_Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword._

They finished singing the canticle and Cullen realized that it wasn’t the words of the chant that had filled him, it was their being in unison, the connection that snapped into place whenever he was near her that fed him now.

 Cullen couldn’t take his eyes from her. She looked like new life and promises, flushed and vibrant.  

 They even sighed in unison.

 As he looked at her, his golden eyes searched her midnight ones for answers to questions he didn’t know how to ask. Why couldn’t he take some small pleasure now that the Breach was closed? Why couldn’t he explore these feelings that were confusing and thrilling all at once?

 He leaned slightly forward, noting that she’d already done the same.

 Someone nearby cleared their throat.

 “Um, Commander Cullen? Sorry, Ser, but a border scout says that it’s urgent he speak with you right away.”

 Cullen closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. _This isn’t done,_ he thought to himself. _I’ll find her after I’ve been briefed and we’ll see where this goes._

 Thoughts determined with anticipation, he smiled as he got up from the floor and blew out the candle, turning once again toward the Herald.

 “My Lady, thank you for your company.  I do hope you allow yourself to enjoy some of the festivities. Perhaps I will see you again later.” He said warmly and was rewarded with a shy smile.

 “Thank you, Commander. I’ll look forward to it.” She replied and they all headed out of the Chantry and into the music filled night.

 

* * *

 

Cullen made his way swiftly to the gates where a scout was pacing, waiting for him. It was Thatcher, a scout posted at Haven’s north western border.

 “Commander!” The scout called out as soon as Cullen was in sight and ran for him.

 “What is it, Thatcher? What’s going on?” He responded to the anxiety in the young man’s voice.

 “I’m not sure, Ser, but the last half hour or so I’ve been seeing spots of fire on the mountain.” He looked nervous, but kept going. “At first, I thought it might just be some people coming from the villages to celebrate like everyone else….”

 “But…” Cullen encouraged.

 “But then they started grouping together and…it looked like a march. I rode here as fast as I could, Ser!”

 All Cullen’s levity and peace came crashing down to his feet like a lead weight. He turned to his nearest officer.  “Quickly, my glass!”

 In moments, Cullen had it in his hands and lifted the device to his eye, scanning the mountains for any sign.

 At first there was nothing and Cullen almost let out a sigh of relief, but as he scanned the western peaks once more, he saw it; a small mass of torchlight coming up and over the range, marring the dark night.

 Cullen’s mind was disbelieving as the small mass continued to grow. This was not a mob, this was an army and they were headed to Haven. There were no banners signaling an ally or foe, this was just a swarm, moving with alarming speed. Every ounce of Cullen’s training flared to life and the Commander flew into action.

 “Sound the bells!” He bellowed. “Incoming forces! All able bodied at the ready!”


	5. Haven and Herald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haven is being attacked. Cullen doesn't know if he'll ever see the Herald again.
> 
> The fifth time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn, before the kiss on the battlements.

This was happening. Adrenaline was pumping through Cullen’s body and all thought turned to strategy, even as a small part of him registered the plummeting of the hopes he’d held earlier in the evening.

“Get the Seeker, Herald, Ambassador and Spymaster here immediately!” He ordered the nearest scout and began organizing his soldiers as they arrived at the gate.

 _Not all drunk_ , he thought gratefully.

Cassandra and the Herald arrived together.

“Cullen?” Cassandra probed.

“One watch guard reporting. There’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” He pointed toward the western peaks where the torches, like tongues of flame, danced and grew in the blackness as they watched.

“Under what banner?” Josephine questioned, clearly taken aback by any foreign force choosing to attack Haven.

“None,” he told her.

“None!?” She echoed.

Cullen looked at the Herald then. She was remarkably calm outwardly, but as he looked into her eyes he saw a familiar sheen to them and she nodded slightly to him to acknowledge what he alone would notice. He wanted so badly to reach out and take her hand to lend his strength to her, to show her support. He knew she’d be at the head of all this, come what may. Instead he would be her Commander and see them all through this if the Maker willed it.

A voice came suddenly from just beyond the gates. “I can’t come in unless you open!” It declared in a panic.

 _A lost villager? A stranded scout?_ He thought.

The Herald rushed forward and opened the gate before the others recovered from their shock. On the other side of the gate was a Templar Enforcer in full armour.

Cullen ran for the Herald, but was stopped in his tracks as the Enforcer dropped to its knees and then was dead in the snow, a young boy in a ridiculous hat standing behind it with daggers drawn.

Cullen stood in disbelief, only the biggest and most brutal of Knights became Enforcers, often sent out as lone warriors to lay waste wherever magic was out of control.

 _What is this one doing here? Who is coming? Who is this boy that could take on one of these brutes without coming to harm?_ His thoughts raced.

“I’m Cole.” The boy spoke, seeming to answer the question of Cullen's thoughts. “I came to warn you, to help.”

Cole seemed more agitated with each moment, pacing and fidgeting. “People are coming to hurt you!” He shouted. “You probably already know that.”

The Herald moved forward toward the boy, trying for clarity. “What is this? What’s going on?”

Cole bowed his head for a moment, contemplative. “The Templars come to kill you.” His voice sounded soft and sad.

“Templars!?” Is THIS the Orders response to our talks with the Mages? Attacking blindly!” Cullen felt enraged at the thought. How could his brothers and sisters, the Lord Seeker, be so utterly foolish? How could they think to attack a settlement with innocents?

Cole explained. “The Red Templars went to the Elder One – You know him,” he gestured to the Herald, “he knows you. You took his Mages.”

Turning toward the mountains where the horde was becoming more visible over the range, he pointed to a small cliff, jutting out from the base. On it stood a man. Cullen put the glass to his eye to look and saw only a familiar face.

_Samson._

Cullen’s body went stiff with shock. All hope that these men weren’t his Templar brothers and sisters crumbled.

“This Elder One…” He began, words turning to ash in his mouth as a massive creature unlike anything he’d seen, an abomination perhaps, came to stand on the ledge beside Samson.

Cole’s voice was weighted. “He’s VERY angry that you took his Mages.”

The Herald swirled to Cullen once more, a steely reserve coming over her body. “Cullen, give me a plan. Anything!” She beseeched.

What he felt from her was - _Cullen, I trust you. Help me –_ and, by the Maker, he would.

“Haven is no fortress,” he told her. “If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle.

Gesturing toward the trebuchets beyond the stables and smithy, he directed, “Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!”

He turned to address the cluster of Mages nearby. “Mages! You have sanction to engage them!” He told them, knowing that those from the Circle may still hesitate to openly attack any Templar. “That is Samson. He will not make it easy!”

Then, addressing all of them: “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your LIVES! For all of us!”

The Herald turned to run, but spun back toward him for only a moment. She hooked the tips of her fingers with his for an agonizing second. There was so much left unspoken. It was wordless. It was torture.

He thought he may have heard her whisper his name and then she was gone, hurtling toward the trebuchets with Cassandra, Blackwall and Solas behind her, swallowed into the maw of the night.

Cullen turned to those still at the gate. “Thatcher, Thompson and Hollows – Find every weapon, every piece of armour. Bring it back to the Chantry and outfit anyone who can fit in it or hold a weapon.

Circling again, “Lysette, take a crew of Templars and keep that force from coming through the western path as long as you can. You know how these people fight, counter them, but fall back if you’re overtaken.”

“Ser!” She snapped to attention before heading out to follow orders.

“Abbott, Bastien, get to Master Dennet and help him herd the horses over the next range. They’ll cause damage in close quarter combat if they get loose and we don’t want to give the enemy the best horses in Fereldan. Sera and Varric, go with them and take out anything that gets close.

“On it, Curly” Varric said, giving a haphazard salute and running to join Sera, who’d already bolted into action. Her seriousness spoke volumes about her perception of the situation. Cullen saw them both knock an arrow or bolt as they ran toward the stables.

Reminding Cullen of one of their great resources; “Archers!” He cried. “Get up those ladders and start picking them off as they advance. Leave the shielded ones for the warriors and concentrate on the foot soldiers and other archers. Keep them off the ground crew.

He heard men and women move to climb the scaffolding.

“Madame Vivienne, I need you back at the Chantry,” he told the Enchanter. “Dorian, you as well.”

He noticed the look of distain that passed between them.

“Work together!” Cullen emphasized. “You need to keep the civilians inside safe. We’ll need elemental mines set around the entrance, but be ready to clear a path as wounded and lost head there. Can I trust you?” He asked the pair.

“Of course, my dear. It shall be as you say.”  Vivienne confirmed, every inch of her becoming a Knight-Enchanter. She flew, graceful and lithe up the stairs, heading toward the Chantry without waiting for Dorian.

“Maker guide you, Commander. Try not to get yourself killed.” Dorian replied before following.

“Bull!” Cullen ran for the giant Qunari who’d arrived at the gates with his crew. “I need you and the Charger’s to shadow the Herald if you can. Break up the larger groups of the invading forces into smaller numbers. Give the Herald extra time to get to the trebuchets, and then take out any stragglers so that they can’t regroup.

“Chargers, with me! We’ve got our work cut out for us. Let’s do this!” Iron Bull bellowed with a nod to Cullen.

When all orders were given, save one, Cullen turned to his remaining officers. “Everyone else, with me! We keep these gates clear. No matter what, hold your ground. Andraste protect us all.”

 

* * *

 

The battle was a whirlwind. His Templar brethren had been transformed into disfigured monsters. Red lyrium grew from their bodies and a repulsive energy radiated from their very being. There was barely a trace of the men and women they’d once been and Cullen’s vision began to blur as he cut down one after the other.

A lull in the battle signaled the end of the first wave, a multitude of Red Templars still travelled down the mountainside. They didn’t have long before those soldiers reached them and his men took that time to get to supply caches and switch out armour.

Cullen’s breastplate had caved in on one side from a well-placed blow from a war hammer. He was sure that he had broken ribs and the pressure radiating through his chest was becoming unbearable. There was nothing for it. He unbuckled the straps holding the side piece to the front of the breastplate and let the damaged piece fall to the ground with a clank. His side would be exposed, but a healing potion couldn’t repair the ribs and what he suspected was a punctured lung while the offending piece was still in place.

There was no time for him to make it back to the Chantry for a fresh plate. He arranged the tabard cloak to drape over the missing piece and downed one of the last restoration potions he had. He may not last long in the next battle, but he certainly didn’t need to give away any vulnerability to the enemy.

Feeling his ribs begin to knit and heal; he once again picked up his sword and shield to await the coming horde. In that moment, however, he heard the volley of another trebuchet and watched the perfectly aimed hit begin an avalanche that swept mercilessly down the mountain side, extinguishing lives and torches alike. For a moment, the night was blessedly dark.

“By the Maker.” Cullen sagged in relief. This could give them days to evacuate to the east before any invading survivors could make their way to Haven through the snow.

He had begun to head toward the trebuchets when he heard it, fresh screaming from men nearby and a terrible screeching sound followed by explosions of fire everywhere. Above them an unmistakable silhouette flew over the camp.

“Dragon! Everyone, fall back!” He ordered.

He could see the Herald running and took a deep breath, grateful to see her alive.

“Move it! Move it!” He called to the group and the rest of the remaining soldiers. “We need everyone back to the Chantry. It’s the only building that might hold against…that beast.”  He sighed and shook his head, weary and in pain still. “At this point, just make them work for it.”

Swords, shields and staves in hand, they fought their way through Red Templars not taken by the avalanche and into the Chantry. Cullen was not surprised at all that the Herald had been able to rescue half of the citizens of Haven at the same time.

At the Chantry, they were greeted by a wounded Chancellor Roderick, held up by the boy, Cole.

“Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter.” He called out to those still outside. Cullen looked at the gaping wound in his abdomen. He couldn’t see the angle properly; it could have punctured the stomach or the lungs, perhaps even reaching the heart. If that was the case, he didn’t have that long. He despised the man and his foolish arrogance, but he didn’t wish him ill. _Perhaps a potion could still work_ , he thought.

Cole looked at Cullen and then the Herald as he spoke. “He tried to stop a Templar. The blade went deep,” he said, his hand coming to rest just underneath the chest, near the heart, indicating just how deep the blade had gone. “He’s going to die.” He said resolutely.

Cullen and the Herald nodded their understanding.

“What a charming boy,” the Chancellor exclaimed, strangely amused.

Cullen turned his focus to her then. “Herald, our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us.”

“I’ve seen an archdemon. I was in the fade, but it looked like that,” Cole offered.

“I don’t care what it looks like! It’s cut a path for that army. They’ll kill _everyone_ in Haven.” Cullen snapped. He was trying desperately to think of a way out of this and was coming up empty every time. The crush of failure so heavy on his shoulders, he could have wept with frustration.

“The Elder One doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.” Cole clarified.

Cullen could see the same unshed tears in her eyes and knew that the Herald could see no way out either. She wasn’t blaming him or asking him for another plan. Once more, she accepted the situation as it was and saw the only options available to her, though her words ripped through Cullen like a bolt from Bianca.

“If it will save these people, he can have me.” She declared.

Cole, however, shook his head. “It won’t. He wants to kill you, no one else matters, but he’ll crush them, kill them anyway. I don’t like him.”

“You don’t like….?” Cullen snorted. “Herald, there are no tactics to make this survivable. The only thing that slowed them was the avalanche. We could turn the remaining trebuchets and cause one last slide.” He said, trying to give her one last option.  He hoped it would at least offer some satisfying sense of retribution.

“We’re overrun. To hit the enemy we’d bury Haven.” She responded, but Cullen could see the dawning understanding come to her face.

“We’re dying, but we can decide how. Many don’t get that choice.” He said, his gentle voice trying to convey more than his words.

A noise drew their attention to the boy and Roderick. Cole was looking at the Chancellor intently, head cocked to one side like he was trying to listen, but the Chancellor wasn’t saying anything.

“Yes, that.” Cole said, seemingly responding to something. “Chancellor Roderick can help. He wants to say it before he dies.”

Chancellor Roderick gasped and spoke in a wheezing voice. “There is a path…you wouldn’t know it unless you made the summer pilgrimage…as I have. The people _can_ escape…she…must have shown me…Andraste must have shown me so I could tell you.”

“What are you on about, Roderick?” The Herald asked, obviously confused.

“It was whim that I walked the path…I did not mean to start…it was overgrown. Now, with so many…so many in the Conclave dead…to be the only one that remembers. I don’t know, Herald…if this simple memory can save us, this could…be more than mere accident… _you_ could be more.”

The Herald locked eyes with Cullen. “What about it, Cullen? Will it work?”

“Possibly, if he shows us the path - but what of your escape?” He couldn’t think that they would be separated now.

She said nothing. She had nothing to offer him.

“Perhaps you will surprise it,” he offered her instead. “Find a way,” he implored.

“Inquisition, prepare yourselves. You leave in 10 minutes or less, gather what you can, tend to your wounded and get yourselves ready.” Cullen instructed.

He took the Herald by the arm and brought her over to a pile of supplies. He set about replacing the plate at his side that had been damaged and pulled out pieces that better protected her, adding to her Enchanter’s Coat padding at the arms and locking metal plate around her boots.

She touched his shoulder as he was bent to do his work, when he looked up he saw the tears on her cheeks and his heart turned to stone in his chest. He could barely look at her without crying out in his agony. “M-my Lady…” He started, his voice thick as pitch, and stood to hold her face with his hands, as though he could stop the world from spinning and pause them in that moment.

“Cullen, Maker…I want…I can’t…” She wept and clutched at his wrists. He could feel the indentation of every finger through his gloves.

“Shhhh… It’s alright.” He held her then, pulled her sweetly close. He cradled her head to his chest, his hand holding her gently at the back of her head, stroking her hair. He knew this was beyond how an advisor or even a friend would comfort her, but he couldn’t care. He breathed in her scent and pressed his lips to the top of her head. The thought that he might not see her face, her eyes, her light again…was too much to bear.

She looked up to his face and once more he was struck with the urge to show her what she meant to him, to give her every promise he could in his kiss, but he couldn’t burden her with that in this moment. They were sending her out to perform another miracle, to save them all. He couldn’t burden her with his feelings, his own selfish need. She needed him to be a source of strength and courage.

“Cullen, please…please, sing one last time for me. Sing me the Trials.”

This he could do for her.

_Maker, my enemies are abundant._  
_Many are those who rise up against me._  
_But my faith sustains me; I shall not fear the legion,_  
_Should they set themselves against me._

_Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
_I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
_I shall endure._  
_What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

_Though all before me is shadow,_  
_Yet shall the Maker be my guide._  
_I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Beyond._  
_For there is no darkness in the Maker's Light_  
_And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost._

_Draw your last breath, my friends,_  
_Cross the Veil and the Fade and all the stars in the sky._  
_Rest at the Maker's right hand,_  
_And be Forgiven._

When he finished, her calm had returned and he could feel her gathering her strength and magic to her, preparing. Her aura was singing to him now, its sweet and powerful tune. Hearing it again, he knew that she’d be a force to be reckoned with out there.

He pulled back and ran to a group of men, spoke with them quickly and came back to the Herald as the men slid out of the Chantry.

“They’ll load the trebuchets,“ he told her. “Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line. If we are to have a chance, if you are to have a chance, let that thing hear you.”

“Listen to me,” he ordered. “When that signal lights up, you release the trebuchet and you run. Do you hear me? That signal is hope, for all of us.”

She nodded. “And you,” she said, “when I distract them, you run for your lives. Even if you can’t see me or hear me behind you, you keep going. You get to safety…you live. Is _that_ understood, Commander?”

Wordlessly, he returned her nod.

They were joined then by her faithful companions, Cassandra, Blackwall and Solas, who had chosen to help her reach the trebuchet. They filled them in on the plan and there was nothing left to do, but to put it into action.

Cullen moved toward the soldiers and refugees. “Inquisition! It’s time! Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry – MOVE! –“

Unexpectedly, the Chancellor touched the arm of the Herald for a moment. “Herald,” he said. “If you are meant for this, if the Inquisition is meant for this…” He wheezed. “I pray for you.”

She bowed her head to him in a moment of forgiveness and acceptance and then turned to head for the Chantry doors, not saying goodbye to anyone, not to Cullen. Her back was stiff and her knuckles were white on her staff, but she looked regal, sure and ready, giving the people an image to have faith in,  as she pushed the doors open.

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t let her go. If this was to end tonight, he would end it by her side. He grabbed Captain Rylan. “Take them, get them out of here. If I don’t make it back, you are in command. Lead them safely, my friend.”

He ran toward the doors and was about to shout out to the Herald’s party, when she turned to see him coming. Shock reaching her eyes as she, at the same time, realized his intent to join them. She let out a sound, a note, a cry and he was suddenly knocked off his feet.

He scrambled to get up immediately only to discover that a great barrier covered the entrance to the Chantry. _No,_ he thought. _NO!_

“Evelyn!” He called out to her.

She shook her head, her hand clutched at the place over her heart. “Run,” she mouthed. “Please, Cullen.” And she herself, turned and ran into the night, a war cry on her lips.


	6. Supplications and Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen can't believe that the Herald is gone. He won't believe it and, thanks to Cole, he doesn't have to.
> 
> The sixth time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn before the kiss on the battlements (does mouth to mouth count?)

The Maker alone knew where they were. They’d been travelling the last day without rest in the blinding snow, following a very poorly marked path. This had once been the path taken by the Hero of Fereldan, leading her and her team to the isolated village of Haven and the Temple of Sacred Ashes. The path included underground tunnels – the first of which had taken them from the Chantry to the other side of the mountain, safe from the avalanche – precarious bridges, twists, turns and dead ends.  It had only ever been the most dedicated of devotees that had chosen to walk the path taken to find Andraste’s Urn and, in the later years following the last blight, it was abandoned once more as ‘fraught with peril’ didn’t seem to adequately convey the challenges of such a pilgrimage.

The Chantry had built new and safer roads to reach both the village and the temple. Those roads were now buried under a deep river of snow, along with the invading army…and, quite possibly, the Herald of Andraste.

What remained of the Inquisition had come to camp in a low valley somewhere to the north of Haven, finally able to rest after their escape. Cullen, however, couldn’t rest. He stood apart from the others, beyond the borders of the camp site. His eyes couldn’t stop scanning the endless expanse of snow, looking, waiting and hoping beyond hope that she would still come back to him.

Cassandra, Blackwall and Solas had made it all the way back to the Chantry in Haven and had followed the rest of the Inquisition through the tunnel. Cassandra had told Cullen that the Herald had yelled for them to run when the dragon had descended upon them. They had run for the Chantry, thinking that the trebuchet had been destroyed by fire.

When they’d discovered that the Herald wasn’t with them, they’d tried to go back, but the Herald had managed to release the trebuchet and it was all that they could do to get the Chantry doors closed before the snow drowned them. They were absolutely devastated and convinced that she hadn’t made it. Who could have?

 _I can’t believe that_ , Cullen thought. _I won’t believe it_. He was so sure that he would feel something, that the connection between them would somehow snap if she ceased to be.

“Maker,” he whispered into the night, “I know that we aren’t supposed to make personal supplications beyond what is set out for us within the Chant of Light,” he paused, “but, Maker, I can't sing the Chant. I can barely speak.” His voice broke as his sorrow choked him once again.

“Maker, she is my voice. She is my light. Nothing has ever brought me closer to you than knowing that you created _her_ to be in the world…someone so selfless, kind, gentle, fierce and strong all at once. When she is near me, I see your light in her eyes. When she sings, I feel as though I can finally understand your abiding love for Andraste.”

He shook his head. “I know that this sounds like sacrilege and blasphemy, but I am _here_ , Maker, humble before you. I have nothing left to lose in begging you for her life. If I am to be struck down for it and sent to the Void, it would be no different than my world if she's not in it.”

On his knees in the snow, he began to shake and rock. “Maker, have mercy. I beg you. I beg you.” He wept.

“Maker,” he gasped, “I love her. She need never love me, but let me love her in this world. I will be her protector, her friend, her counsellor, or any role that you would have me play in her life, if you would bring her light back to the people…and to me.”

Looking up into the sky he beseeched another. “Andraste, if she was ever your Herald, show mercy on her, on all of us.”

All that was left were broken sobs and silence for what seemed an eternity as Cullen awaited some kind of sign.

“She lives,” came a voice near Cullen’s ear.

He fell backward in the snow in shock. _Maker?!_ He thought frantically, searching for the source of the voice.

“No.” The voice replied to his thought.

It was not the Maker, but a young blonde boy in a strange hat. A niggling awareness scratched in Cullen’s mind. Did he know this boy?

“Cole?”

“Yes.” The boy replied.

“Wait, what did you say before?” He asked, his voice still thick with fear and grief.

“She lives,” Cole confirmed again. “I hear things, in minds and hearts…hurts to help and heal.”

He looked at Cullen for a long moment. “Your pain is very loud. It hurts so deeply, there are other deep things, but you never go to them. It’s like the path we’re taking, overgrown and forgotten, but the path is still there. When this hurt is healed it will start to let the other deep things out. Yes, this will be good. I want to help.” He muttered.

“I don’t understand.” Cullen said, trying to make sense of the conversation and to steer it back to where it mattered. “You said that she lives? Do you mean _the Herald_ is alive?”

He could hear the desperation in his voice, but he couldn’t care. He grasped Cole’s shoulders. “How do you know this? Have you seen her?” He scrambled to stand up.

“I can hear her thoughts, her pain. She’s very lost, very tired.” He stopped and his eyes seemed to lose focus before he continued, his voice sounded slightly different and its cadence changed.

“Cold…Maker, I’m so cold. I can’t remember being warm….Keep moving, keep moving. The signal went up….Hope for us both, he said…He has to be out there, alive somewhere…I’d know it if he wasn’t. Maker, guide my footsteps….Keep moving…”

Cole paused and Cullen held back a growl as he urged the boy to continue. “Please,” he said, “keep going!”

“No more magic to keep the frostbite at bay or the chill in my lungs. Maker, I’m so tired…What’s this? Embers…recent? Are they near? Is _he_ near? Maker, I never got to tell him….”

Cole looked at Cullen, his mouth forming a silent O. “Her thoughts are quieter now, like she’s sleeping, but if she sleeps for too long, she won’t wake up.”

Cullen let out a strangled cry. Embers, she’d said. “We stopped just above the ridge before we surveyed the valley for the camp site. We made a fire to boil some snow to drink. Could she be there, Cole? Could she be so close?”

Running for the top of the ridge, he called back to the boy, “get the Seeker and some blankets. Tell Solas to be ready.”

Every breath was meticulous to give him the greatest speed and strength in his stride. His heart pounded in his chest as he finally cleared the top to find her a short distance away, collapsed in the snow.

“She’s over here!” He shouted to anyone who could hear him. He scooped her up into his arms as though she were weightless and ran down the steep slope toward Cassandra who was dashing to meet them.

“Thank the Maker!” She cried, seeing the Herald in his arms.

“He already has.” Said Cole. “He always will.”

* * *

 

Both the Seeker and the Commander ignored the boy as they wrapped the Herald in the blankets and continued to the camp.

As quickly as possible, they had her in a tent with Solas, his hands running just over the top of her, his magic assessing.

Her breath seemed to make a strange rattling sound and Solas gasped. “She’s not breathing!” He cried.

Grabbing Cullen’s arm, he pulled him beside her cot. “Commander, breathe for her. Force air into her lungs and pump her chest like so,” he instructed Cullen. “I need to concentrate on my magic.”

Cullen had done something similar before in battle and  needed no further instruction before setting to work. He used one hand to tilt her head up at an angle, pulled her chin to open her mouth, pinched her nose and put his mouth on hers, forcing air into her empty lungs. He pulled back and started to compress her chest with five short pumps of his hands before starting the whole process again. On the third round she began to sputter and cough. Cullen lifted her gently in his arms and held her so that she could catch her full breath.

Her eyes fluttered open to look at him, but fluttered closed again just as quickly. At least she was breathing and, with Solas’ magic, her colour was beginning to return, her blue lips becoming shell pink again.

He was struck with the memory of the first time he’d seen her, unconscious in Haven, looking very much as she did in that moment. He’d known then that she would change his life, but he couldn’t have known how much.

Standing up to let Solas continue with his healing, he noticed for the first time, that Cole was still with them. Had he been there the entire time? Cullen couldn’t seem to remember.

Regardless of who, _or what_ , Cole was, Cullen owed him a great debt. He grasped the young man’s forearm and shook it once in thanks. Cole looked absolutely delighted by this.

“Thank you, Cole. I cannot repay you. None of us can.” He said sincerely.

“I’m glad that I helped.” He smiled broadly at Cullen.

“Can you really hear her thoughts?” Cullen asked.

“All thoughts and feelings, yes. Some are loud and some are soft.” He confirmed. “Hers are soft now. Yours are too.” He said innocently.

Ignoring the reference to his own thoughts, “you can hear _her_ thoughts right now?” He asked. The boy nodded.

“Might I ask what they are? Is she well?” He asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“Yes,” said Cole and, looking at the Herald, he cocked his head slightly and spoke. “She’s thinking that that was not the kiss she was hoping for.”

Near where the Herald lay, Cullen heard Solas’ soft chuckle and a red warmth spread all the way up to his ears.

“Yes, um, well…If you’ll excuse me, I must speak with the others and assure them that she’s well.” He told them, suddenly very keen to be elsewhere for a moment.

“Very well, it would seem.” Solas murmured.

Cullen huffed and left the tent, welcoming the cool winter air. He found that he could actually smile and laughed at his own embarrassment.

Pausing before he went to truly go speak with the other advisors, he stood facing the ridge where they’d found her, he looked up into the sky and spoke the only words in his heart, before continuing on his way.

“Thank you.” He sighed. “Thank you.”


	7. Your Inquisitor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have arrived at Skyhold and fluff ensues.
> 
> The seventh time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn before their kiss on the battlements.

In the two weeks since the Herald regained consciousness, things had moved so quickly for the people of the Inquisition. Fear of discovery by the Elder One – who they now knew was Corypheus, an ancient darkspawn magister – had them on the move almost immediately.

Solas, with insight gleaned from the fade, had suggested that the Herald scout to the north for shelter, and so they travelled over mountains and through valleys, only stopping for short rests to replenish supplies or when they could absolutely go no further without sleep.

The Herald was at the head of it all. She was the front line, the first over the edge. She went with teams to gather herbs or mine ore when they’d make camp. She mixed potions with Adan who, Cullen noticed, was never cranky with her since she’d saved his life. She was a part of every aspect of the Inquisition’s survival.

On the eve of their third week as refugees, all of them weary and worn from the ordeal, they came over the crest of a peak to find the Herald stopped, Solas nearby, and in the background, an enormous fortress, still magnificent and strong, if a little weathered. It was like an oasis after walking through the desert and all at once a cheer rang out.

Cullen watched in awe as she pulled Solas to her. She took his hand in both of hers, kissed it and raised it in the air, giving as much of the praise to him as the people were giving to her. Cullen knew how much she respected the Elven hedgemage and how desperately she wanted the people to value and respect him as much as she did.

This kind and honest gesture was so typical of her. It astounded him that it often went unnoticed by others. He marvelled that they failed to notice the blood, sweat and tears that went into everything she did, thinking that it all came naturally to her or that things just happened to fall miraculously into place whenever the Herald of Andraste was involved.

They reached the fortress that Solas called Skyhold in the pitch black of the very early morning hours. Exhausted, the people set up their tents as best they could in the courtyard. A few of the rooms surrounding the courtyard were sound and so a room was reverently set up for the Herald to sleep, for which she was exceedingly grateful and fell instantly to sleep on the pallet laid out for her.

That same day, he, Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra had decided to let the Herald sleep as long as she was able, she’d certainly earned it, but decided also to meet regardless.

Cullen had been mulling over an idea for some time and this meeting presented a perfect opportunity for him to bring it up without the Herald being present.

Detailing the Herald’s works, most known to the group and some that they were surprised to learn of, Cullen presented them with the idea to make the Herald their Inquisitor.

“Cullen, I…don’t know what to say,” Cassandra sputtered. “I had no idea that the Herald had truly done so much. I have thought myself her friend, but I never thought to question her part in things.”

She looked at him, still shaking her head. “She has quite a gift for just being there. I realize now that she knows far more about me than I know about her. She’s a very good listener.”

She blew out a breath. “I feel quite ashamed,” she said.

“Cassandra, no.” Cullen placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “No, she would never want you to feel that way. You’ve been an excellent friend to her, I’m sure. Your focus has been on closing the Breach and stopping the Venetori,” he assured her. “Then we had the attack on Haven and now a bloody would-be god to stop. Your focus hasn’t been misdirected.”

“And how have you come to observe all this, Commander?” Leliana questioned lightly, a sly smile on her face. “Haven’t you been focused on the same things? Not that I disagree with you in any way,” she continued. “I have noticed many of these things myself, but it is my job to be watchful and yet _you_ seem to have noticed considerably more,” the spymaster finished.

Cullen knew what she was hinting at and refused to play the game. “And it’s _my_ job, Leliana, to watch over all my recruits and soldiers, especially those on the front lines of the Inquisition. Lady Trevelyan’s been out in the field more than anyone and so I’ve observed her to make sure that she has been in able condition. She’s also been the subject of most of the reports that come across my desk.” He said confidently.

“Able condition…uh huh.” She continued her smile.

“Well, I’m convinced.” Josephine chimed in. “The Herald had proven to be intelligent, diplomatic, compassionate and a mage of considerable skill. Her lineage is impeccable, and as the Herald of Andraste, she has been the face of the Inquisition since the inception. I suggest that we make it official before the people and grant her the rights, privileges and responsibilities of being Inquisitor.”

“I agree,” said Cassandra, looking then to Leliana for her vote.

“Oh, I agree wholeheartedly. The Inquisition has its leader,” she said seriously, pausing a moment before smiling innocently at Cullen again.

“This new position is likely going to make her an even bigger target for those who oppose the Inquisition. I should think that you will have to watch our Lady very closely indeed, Commander. To be safe, of course.” She practically snickered.

“Oh, for….” Cullen groaned. “If we’re quite done here?” He said, moving to walk out of the makeshift War Room, pausing to once again put a hand on Cassandra’s shoulder.

“I think that you should be the one to tell her. You _are_ a good friend to her,” he said sincerely.

To the others, “Let me know when the ceremony will be and I’ll meet you,” he threw over his shoulder and left the women, closing the door behind him.

Before he was able to walk down the hall, he overheard Cassandra ask Leliana why she had to tease the Commander so.

“Because!” Leliana responded. “Life is so uncertain, Cassandra. We must capture happy moments where we may, our Commander included. Besides,” she said, “his blush is very pretty, don’t you think?”

 _Maker’s Breath_ , he thought and continued down the hall, chased by Josephine’s very undiplomatic giggle.

 

* * *

 

Cullen shuffled papers around on the makeshift desk in Skyhold’s courtyard, lifting and replacing the stone paper weights carefully as not to lose anything important.

An office was being prepared for him as quickly as possible by the stone masons. His personal chamber above the office would have to wait until other vital rooms were made secure, but Cullen slept at his desk most nights anyway, it bothered him very little to have it unfinished.

Behind him, in the courtyard, the scent of turned earth and herbs teased his senses. The smell reminded him so much of home, his family and their little farm.

With a smile he turned to find the Herald standing there, brushing her hands down the sides of her breeches to loosen the dirt that clung to them.

“Good morning, Commander.” She chirped cheerfully.

“My Lady, good morning.” He smiled back at her.

Looking at her still filthy hands, she made a show of trying to wipe them again before sheepishly hiding them behind her back.

“Sorry,” she said. “I found three pots and some earth in the gardens and I couldn’t resist. I made a pot of herbs for the kitchen and kept two pots in the gardens for healing plants. I hope I can add more, eventually.”

Bringing her hands out to show him again, “I was just on my way to wash up,” she said.

Cullen sniffed the air. “Hmm, is that why I can smell sage and….mint?” He asked _._

 _Sweet Maker! Did I just smell her?_ He thought, rubbing his neck nervously.

“Very good,” she giggled. “You just missed the rosemary.”

They stood just looking at each other a moment before she broke the silence again.

“Hard at work, I see,” she said, gesturing at the papers held down by stones on the table.

“Yes, well…we set up as best we could at Haven, but we could never prepare for an Archdemon, or whatever it was.” He looked around at the fortress they now occupied. “With some warning, we might have.”

It still tortured Cullen, all the lives that had been lost, his mind awash in ‘what ifs’.

Worry creased her brow. “Do you ever sleep?” She asked with a hint of humour, though her concern was clear.

“If Corypheus strikes again, we might not be able to withdraw.” He looked at her and remembered that he’d been forced to flee while she’d gone for the last trebuchet and faced Corypheus alone. “And I wouldn’t want to,” he said and recognition of his words filled her gaze. “We must be ready.”

He straightened as he continued, proud of all the work that was being done to make sure things were safe for everyone.

“Work on Skyhold is underway,” he said, looking at some of the reports on his table, “guard rotations established…we should have everything on course within the week,” he finished, satisfied with how they were progressing.

Seeing her pensive look, he wanted her to be reassured. “We will _not_ run, Inquisitor _.” I will never run from you again,_ he added for himself.

“How many were lost?” She asked, a lingering hint of sadness tinging her voice.

“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been far worse. Morale was low, but has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”

 _How many hundreds of men and women owed their lives to this remarkable woman, he thought_. He was in absolute awe of her.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan. It sounds odd, don’t you think?” She asked humbly.

“Not at all,” he said warmly in return.

“Is that the official response?” She teased.

Cullen had to laugh. “I suppose it is, but it’s the truth. We needed a leader. You have proven yourself.”

She smiled, obviously relieved to have his affirmation.

“Thank you, Cullen,” she said with a sincerity that warmed him to his toes.

She cleared her throat lightly and stared at the ground for a moment before adding “Our escape from Haven…it was close,” she acknowledged, knowing that he might still be upset with her about the barrier. “I’m relieved that you…that so many made it out.”

“As am I.”

It was all he could do to look at her as that night replayed in his mind. He did look at the ground then, thinking of how he had almost lost her.

Lifting his head he saw that she had turned to leave and took firm hold of her wrist to stop her from going.

“You stayed behind.” He whispered. “You could have…”

It almost happened in that moment. He almost pulled that wrist toward him to pull her close. He almost crushed her to him to tell her everything in his kiss – all his fear, his love, his need…but he didn’t.

He did, however, look into her eyes and put all his feelings into his own for her to see.

“I will _not_ allow the events at Haven to happen again. _You_ have my word.”

Her breath hitched momentarily and her teeth pressed against her lip nervously before nodding in acknowledgment.

He released her wrist, a flush quickly spreading across his face.

Yes…um. Well, good day, Inquisitor.” He bowed slightly and took a step back to relieve the intensity of the moment.

“Good day, Commander,” she reciprocated and turned to leave as Cullen turned to regard the contents of his table again.

A quiet cough alerted him to the fact that she hadn’t left after all.

“Cullen, may I ask you a question?” She said, her face earnest.

His curiosity was piqued. “Of course, Inquisitor."

“Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?” She asked shyly.

His heart leapt into his throat. _Could she be asking what I think she’s asking?_ He wondered.  

So many times he thought that he’d imagined that she returned his interest, but some part of him that felt so unworthy of her had refused to let him truly believe it.

A test then. “No, I fear I made few friends there, and my family’s in Fereldan.” There. Would that satisfy her?

A pause. She licked her lips and looked up at him coyly.

“No one _special_ caught your interest?” She asked sweetly.

Warmth spread through Cullen once more. Here it was. Confirmation. Sparks of joy lit up in his chest and he couldn’t hold back a foolish grin as he answered her.

“Not in _Kirkwall_.”

Those sparks of joy exploded in bliss as she now wore a foolish grin to match his own.

Swinging her shoulders slightly, her hands once again behind her back, she tried to control her impossibly stubborn smile by biting her lip. It didn’t help, he noticed.

“That’s all for now,” she said, her voice positively cheeky.

His own grin was just as stubborn as he returned her farewell. “I’m sure you have other matters to attend.”

She did turn and leave then as Cullen watched her. He couldn’t be sure, but it did look as though she was trying very hard not to skip.


	8. Another Round?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen gets some advice and is invited for a drink at the Herald's Rest.
> 
> The eighth time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn before their kiss on the battlements.

“I believe that it’s your move, Commander.” Dorian said with a smirk.

Cullen eyed the chess board intently, assessing his options. He didn’t want to let on that he knew Dorian was so close to winning this match.  Their competitiveness had increased with every game since arriving at Skyhold – so much so that what should have been a quiet and respectful game of strategy, involved more trash talk than one of the sparring competitions set up by the recruits.

“Shut it, Tevinter. You haven’t won yet. I’m finding a way take you down.” He said, picking up one of his pawns.

“Is that why you’ve taken so long to make a move?” He chortled. “It looks suspiciously like the same strategy you’re employing to make a move on our Evelyn…which is to say, none.”

Cullen placed his pawn in the wrong spot on the board. “W-what? What in the world are you talking about?”

Noticing what he’d done, he let out a curse and glared at the mage who was capturing the pawn and joyfully exclaiming “Check!”

“Honestly, Commander. Did you really think that none of us had noticed this ‘thing’ between you?”

“Thing? What ‘thing’?” Cullen asked, his voice cracking slightly.

“Oh, come now. If that woman is within a hundred yards of you, your eyes follow her every move as though she’s the moon and you’re the evening tide.” Dorian scoffed.

It couldn’t have been a more apt description if he’d tried. Cullen had often compared the Inquisitor’s looks to that of the moon, pale and luminescent, and her effect on him was very much an undeniable pull.

At Cullen’s stricken look, Dorian pushed the chess board to the side of the table.

“Look, forget the game. We both know it was mine anyhow.” He continued, despite Cullen’s grunt. “Commander, you must know that I’ve come to respect you. You’ve never judged me on my country of birth or my choices in life. Even the fact that I’m a mage seems not to faze you.”

At the mocking lift of Cullen’s eyebrow, he added quickly, “Fine, you’ve never said it out loud, you boar! Honestly, I don’t know why I’m your friend then.”

Cullen laughed. “Maker knows.”

Honestly, Cullen was surprised with how easily he’d fallen into friendship with the Tevinter Altus. There was something about his choice to stand up against his countrymen, his family and his mentor, to do what he believed was right and live openly in his truth that had Cullen’s complete respect.

“I’m sorry, Dorian,” he smiled sincerely. “Whatever you’re about to say to me, I’ll listen. I may not like it, but I’ll hear you.”

Dorian’s gaze almost became tender as he reached across the table to put his hand on Cullen’s forearm, in a gesture that was not at all suggestive, but comforting. A surprise from the notorious flirt.

“Cullen, I can see that you love her –“ Cullen bristled at the revelation, but Dorian continued regardless. “ –and not in the way that we all love her. Andraste knows I love that woman to bits and I’ll stand by her ‘til my last breath for how she’s helped me and what she’s doing for all of blighted Thedas, but, it’s impossible to mistake the look in your eyes for the same look in ours. When the two of you are together, I have to wade through a fog of sexual tension so thick it makes _me_ blush.” He said, gesturing to the flush that had just reached the tips of Cullen’s ears.

“What I don’t understand, is why neither of you have done anything about it! It’s very distracting.” He finished with a smirk.

Cullen blew out a breath, not even trying to deny Dorian’s words. What was the point when they both knew the truth in them?

“She’s so….” He began.

“She’s so…what?” Dorian countered. “Beautiful? Beguiling? Good at handling a staff?” He asked with a little waggle of his eyebrows.

Cullen rolled his eyes and put his head in his palms. “Perfect…She’s so perfect and I’m….not,” he whispered.

“The things that I have to fight within myself, the things that I’ve done and said… Every time that I tell myself that it might be possible, that something might be between us, I think of the last decade of my life as a Templar and I’m ashamed. What if she can’t accept me? I barely accept myself.”

Dorian stared blankly at Cullen for a moment, struck dumb by the confession.

“Well now, that’s certainly serious. My friend, I had no idea your opinion of yourself was so low. Most of the time you’re so marvellously confident…not as confident as I am, perhaps, but still…” He paused.

“It might be fun to goad you, you do stammer and blush deliciously, but instead I believe I will tell you the truth, if you’ll indulge me.”

He leaned forward, his face holding a serious expression and his arms crossed over his chest. “Cullen, a man or woman would be hard pressed to find someone so loyal, just and true as you in all of Thedas. You are _that_ kind of man and I think for one such as our beautiful and illustrious Inquisitor, only such a one would do.

“It is not the bits and pieces of your past that she would choose to fall in love with, it is the sum of all of your experiences that has allowed you to be the man you are right now. Every moment, every mistake or misjudgment, every regret or struggle has made you the man of integrity, honour, compassion and purpose that I see here before me. This is the man she will love, I’m sure of it. She could not help herself.”

Cullen couldn’t keep the sheen from his eyes. As brash and flippant as Dorian often was, this assessment of his character was delivered so sincerely that he couldn’t help but feel the emotion constricting his chest.

He gulped and looked down at his own folded hands.  “Thank you,” he whispered.

In that moment, the bells of Skyhold rang, signaling a returning party.

“Egad,” Dorian sniffed. “That is certainly enough of that!”

Looking at Cullen again with his regular sly grin painted underneath his mustache, Dorian jerked his head in the direction of the main gate.

“That will be her now, if I’m not mistaken – and I never am. We usually head to the Herald’s Rest for drinks after a group of us returns home. I dare say you might see a certain Enchantress there in a couple of hours.” He stood up and clapped Cullen on the shoulder.

“Join us, if you’ve a mind to. You can buy me a drink to thank me.” And with that, he left to greet the returning party.

Cullen rubbed his face and sighed as he got up and headed toward his office, giving the gate a wide berth.

No sooner had he arrived at the stairs leading up to his tower, when awareness tingled down his spine and he turned to find the Inquisitor walking past, toward the stables, with Varric and four horses in tow.

He made a quick bow as she smiled at him.

“Commander,” she said cheerfully, “how are you?”

“I’m well, Inquisitor. Thank you.” He replied warmly. “And you? Was Crestwood successful? Did you meet the Grey Warden friend of Hawke’s?”

“There were some complications and a lot of undead, but I promise to put it all in my report” she smiled and blew at some hair that had fallen in front of her eyes.

“Come on, Half-Pint, these horses aren’t going to see to themselves.” Varric, who was unusually grumpy, prodded the Inquisitor.

“I’ve got corpse goo and demon residue in places they just shouldn’t be. I need a hot bath for me and Bianca and then a good drink,” the dwarf grumbled while gently stroking his, admittedly goo-caked, crossbow.

“Sorry, Curly” he winked at Cullen as they continued toward the stable, the Inquisitor turning to lift her hand in a rueful farewell.

_A drink sounds like a good idea after all._

 

* * *

 

Cullen pulled at his simple cambric shirt once more. Standing outside of the Herald’s Rest without his armour made him feel vulnerable and exposed. He’d almost forgotten what it felt like to wear simple clothes. Since he’d received his Knighthood, he’d been in full armour for over a decade and since joining the Inquisition had only acquiesced to wear leathers with upper armour to make long days at his desk easier. He wanted to be comfortable and loose tonight, but old habits die hard and the missing weight of his armour was almost enough to have him turn around and abandon his plans for the night.

If he was being honest with himself, the armour also allowed him to hide; it was a way to not let people see the real Cullen Rutherford. 

He laughed at the thought.

No one even knew his name, apart from Leliana. It was always “Commander” or simply “Cullen”. It had been a way to keep a distance between himself and others, and a part of himself, his memories, untouched - but then _she_ made him want to change all of that. He wanted her to see the real him as no one else had, to see him as a simple man. He’d isolated himself long enough, he’d hidden behind rules and fears for long enough and yet the thought of testing the limits, of breaking through and reaching out to her had him stopped again after only two more steps toward the door. 

 _You’re being ridiculous! Stop,_ he told himself sternly. _These are your people, your friends if you let them be.  Go in and have one bloody drink with them._  

With one big breath, he breached the door to the tavern and scanned the scene. 

It was busier than he’d imagined it would be. He’d been in the tavern before, at midday, to have an ale and a bowl of soup during a rare time of quiet, but the place was positively abuzz with people. The tables were brimming with patrons and the rest of the space was crammed with talking groups or boisterous dancers. 

The bard, Maryden, had been joined by four other musicians and, he had to admit, the music was lively and pleasant. 

He made his way through the throng of people to the far side of Cabot’s bar. Strangely, no one seemed to notice him. There were no salutes or ‘Ser’s’, he was being blessedly ignored and thought that perhaps his lack of armour was the right idea after all. No one would expect him to be out of it. 

From his chosen spot, he found the Inquisitor and her crew occupying the area usually reserved for Bull and his Chargers. She was there, in the middle of them all. 

 _Maker, she’s beautiful,_ he thought. 

Her long, pale hair was up in a messy twist, so different from her usual style. Cullen realized that, like him, she was out of her own kind of uniform tonight. She wore dark brown leather breeches that fit like a skin and delicate shoes that reminded him of the kind that Sera wore from time to time. Her tunic was made of ring velvet and the beautiful blue colour and soft texture of the material accentuated her lovely skin. 

Content to watch from the concealment of the large crowd, he watched her flit from friend to friend, laughing and occasionally pulling them up by the hands to spin or dance to a sprightly piece of music. 

Cullen couldn’t help but smile as he watched her. She seemed so alive, so light and carefree. He marvelled at her ability to embrace joy. 

Cabot, finally having made his way over to Cullen’s spot, did a double take at the sight of the armour-less Commander. 

“Well, this is unusual,” the crotchety dwarf stated. “We don’t have food after hours, but we’ve got that Fereldan Pale you like, I guess. You want that?” He asked in a tone that suggested he couldn’t care less. 

“Yes, a pint, please.” Cullen laughed and, once he’d received it, went back to watching the Inquisitor. 

He observed that the group remained quite separate from the rest of the throng of patrons and noticed, on occasion, that when a bold young recruit or cocky, slumming noble tried to breach the sanctum to reach the Inquisitor, someone – invariably Bull, Dorian, Varric and even Sera – would manage to steer the interloper away from her before she even noticed or was bothered. 

 _Dorian’s right,_ he thought to himself _, they really do love her._ _She deserves every bit of it._

Lost in the whimsy of his thoughts, he failed to notice that the Inquisitor had spotted him in the crowd and before he could blink she was standing in front of him with her hands reaching out. 

“Cullen!” She purred. “I’m so glad that you’re here!” 

Tugging at his hands she tried to pull him to the floor filled with dancers. “Come, dance with me. Won’t you?” She begged prettily. 

Cullen was struck dumb for a moment. He’d expected some polite conversation with her, but not this. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond and couldn’t make himself move. 

“I, uh, I’m not one for dancing. Thank you, Inquisitor, but might I get you a drink instead?” He added at her good natured pout. 

“You do that, Commander, while my Eve and I take a turn on the floor. Come, my darling!” Dorian chimed in, grabbing the Inquisitor around the waist and lifting her into a spin while she giggled and threw herself into some kind of jig with that mustachioed menace. 

He owed Dorian two drinks now. 

“Half-pint” Came a voice behind him. Cabot, he saw.

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Half-pint.” He repeated and gestured toward the Inquisitor. 

Maker’s Breath, what was it about these dwarves that had them referring to the Inquisitor with such a nickname? Granted, she was small, but certainly not in comparison. Was it supposed to be ironic? 

“She always has a half-pint of the Fereldan Stout,” he finished. “You buying or what?” 

Cullen blushed and put the money on the bar. 

“Half-Pint,” he chuckled to himself and brought the drinks over to the crew’s table to await the return of the dancing pair. 

He was greeted with surprised warmth by the gang, all of them making noises about him letting loose and being without his armour. It was slightly uncomfortable at first, but it did remind him of his youth with the Templars before he was Knighted and had shared space in the barracks with the lads. There was warmth here. They were a family of sorts and they were welcoming him into it. He appreciated that. 

When Dorian spun the Inquisitor back into the safety of the group, he released her to a seat beside Cullen and winked. 

“I’m off to get another bottle,” he announced to the group, “and I’m putting it on your tab, Commander.” 

Cullen laughed and waved him off, but he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes from the Inquisitor’s face as she was looking at him as well. 

He handed her the drink that Cabot had suggested and she lit up. 

“My favourite!” She exclaimed.

“I wouldn’t figure you for a stout drinker, my Lady.” 

“Well, I’d never really had anything before but a glass of mulled wine on my name day in the Circle. We weren’t really allowed to have alcohol in the tower, but the Knight-Commander always brought out a bottle for very special occasions,” she told him, twisting the edge of her tunic in her fingers. 

“When we got to Skyhold, Varric chastised me for never having visited Flissa’s tavern in Haven and so, one day after a mission away, he brought me here and had me try a little of everything. He said that I needed to find my drink, the one that always told me that I was home and among friends, no matter what happened.” She looked fondly at the blonde dwarf who was animatedly telling a story of his own to the Chargers. 

“I liked the wine, hated the whiskey…” she said, making a sour face, “there was a fruity crème that I didn’t mind, but then he brought out the ales,” she said appreciatively. 

“There was a Nevarran Lager that had too much of an after taste, though Cassandra seems to love it, another Orlesian one, I think, and the Fereldan Pale and Fereldan Stout.” She clinked their glasses together at the mention of the last two. 

“So, why the stout?” He pressed. 

“It just tasted so rich and wild, it was earthy and full…it just kind of reminded me of the life I have here…with all of you,” she explained and gave a little shrug and a smile. 

Time flew past in this way, sitting casually with her and talking lightly, watching her dance with Dorian and Sera, listening to the stories and learning the people. 

 _This is good,_ he thought. 

She was up again with the music, this time with a thrilled, but awkward looking Cole. Cullen hadn’t even noticed the boy join them.

He leaned in toward Varric, who had taken a seat nearby, and tried to speak above the music. 

“I have to say, I’m amazed to see her so social here. It’s good to see her happy, but I usually see her much more reserved, especially in public.” 

“Yes, well, we try to keep that public to a minimum for her,” he gestured toward where Bull was standing, effectively blocking the view of the Inquisitor from the rest of the tavern, “and the rest, I’m afraid, is liquid courage,” he added, lifting her small and empty glass. 

“Speaking of which, Varric, I’ve figured out the nickname,” Cullen said, pointing to the same glass. 

“Huh ho – You think that I call her ‘Half-Pint’ because of the size of glass she uses?” Varric laughed. 

“Curly, look at her.” 

Cullen did, she was jumping and twirling with Cole, laughing and glorious…until she tripped over a chair and laughed on the floor before Bull hauled her up and set her back up with Cole helpfully holding her elbows as the music finished. 

“I call her ‘Half-Pint’ because that’s all it takes and she’s three sheets to the wind.” Varric shook his head and looked at her with obvious affection. 

“Crestwood was a shit-storm, Curly. Turns out, the Mayor of the town flooded old Crestwood ten years ago, during the blight, and killed hundreds of refugees and villagers in an attempt to stop the advancing Darkspawn. A rift underneath the lake had all those bodies rising out of the water to attack the village.” He huffed. 

“We were just supposed to meet Hawke’s contact, Stroud…but, you know our Evelyn, she couldn’t leave them like that. That’s what took us the extra week. We got Caer Bronach out of it, but that was some messed up shit. She needed tonight – hey, we all did – but what _she_ needs, we make sure she gets.” 

He stood up and slapped Cullen on the shoulder. “Right now, Curly, I think our Inquisitor needs some fresh air. Tag, you’re it.” 

The Inquisitor came over to take her seat near Cullen, but Varric was on it right away. 

“Half-Pint, I think Curly here needs some fresh air. Maybe you should take him out back, just ‘til his head clears a little.” He winked at Cullen. 

“Oh, of course. Let me help you, Commander.” She ran her hand down his arm and clasped his fingers in hers and attempted to pull him up. 

Cullen coughed. “Um, yes. Thank you, Inquisitor. That would be most helpful.” 

He let her pull him toward Cabot’s bar and then slip through the kitchen and into the crisp night air. 

Cullen had to admit, it felt good to be outside and she was still holding his hand.

She led him to a little bench beside a fire pit in the small garden behind the tavern’s kitchen. Cullen knew from the spit apparatus that the pit was usually used for roasting meat for the midday and evening meals, but tonight, with a little whistle from Lady Trevelyan, a cheery fire was blazing just for them. It reminded him of their time at the Storm Coast. He'd be warm, just with that memory.

She hadn’t let go of his hand yet and, in fact, had begun to play absently with his fingers while humming along with the music they could still hear drifting out to them from inside. It felt wonderful and the last thing he wanted to do was bring her attention to the fact she was doing it and have her stop. 

“So, you enjoy music, my Lady?” 

Her stunning blue eyes trapped his with their intensity, lighting up at the mention of music. 

“I love it! I wish I could have a minstrel follow me around all day and play all of my moods for me." She declared and he smiled, finding the notion amusing.

"I never know what I'm going to feel with music. I could dance, I could cry, I could be lulled to sleep... I never knew what I was missing before and now I can’t get enough.” She professed.

“What you were missing?” He questioned. 

“Oh, was it not the same in the Circles that you were a part of, I wonder? Or perhaps it was different for the Templars, you were allowed to leave the towers after all.” She said without bitterness in her voice. 

“It sounds foolish, perhaps, but I didn’t know that there was any kind of music beyond the Chant of Light until I arrived in Haven. We were only taught to sing the Chant in the Circle and I had been there for twenty years. I don’t remember much of my life before the Circle as I was eight when my parents sent me and I'd not been brought out much socially before that...so any music I may have heard before had been forgotten.” 

She looked up at the stars, “I love the Chant of Light, especially when you sing it with me, I always will. It feels like home to me…but this _music_ ,” she said the word emphatically, “makes me feel alive, it helps me forget my woes for a time and it also feels closest to my magic than anything else.” 

At his confused look, she elaborated. “My magic is primarily channelled through sound, as you know, and that’s the way I experience it as well. The elements have voices that call to me, sometimes they sing in ways that I can't quite describe.  Cold and heat are the ones that I can hear clearest of all. Each has a kind of language that I can learn, different sounds make the cold or heat respond to me in different ways. It can whisper…” 

She demonstrated by opening the hand that wasn’t holding his and creating a barely visible ball of mist. Cullen waved his free hand through it, feeling the cool droplets and watching the mist disperse as he disturbed it. 

“…or it can roar.” She finished and with a flick of her wrist and a word, there was a cracking sound in the air and Cullen’s eyes widened to see that the fire in the pit had been frozen solid. 

He said nothing for a moment and she took that as an admonishment. In an instant the fire was alive again and flickering with warmth. 

“I’m sorry, Cullen. I shouldn’t have done that. I know that you must not particularly care for magic. I’m not thinking clearly.” She let go the hand she’d been holding. 

“What? No! I was just thinking that that was astonishing…amazing…it’s never been explained to me like that before. You’re – it’s fascinating.” He corrected. 

She smiled sheepishly at him and tucked some stray hair behind her ear. “Oh….good.” 

“Tell me more?” He pressed, purposefully retrieving her hand. 

“Well, let’s see…when I work with the elements, there’s a moment when I’m one with them, before I call part of the one I’m working with into a different shape, a different way of being. I think it was one of the reasons that I was content to be where I was in the Ostwick Circle. I know it was restricting, but when I could be one with the cold north wind for a moment, it didn’t seem to be so bad. I could feel the wind’s freedom and joy. I could feel like I could go anywhere and it was wonderful.” 

Freeing her hand, she opened her arms wide and tilted her head back, taking a deep breath and releasing a heavy sigh, obviously connecting to something in that moment. He just watched her as she experienced it, she was so uninhibited tonight and he found it thrilling. 

“The wind feels joy?” Cullen asked interestedly. 

“Um, yes... How do I explain it?” She bit her lip. 

“Everything is energy,” she rubbed her hand down her arm, patted the bench and gestured to the fire. “Everything is made of the exact same matter.” 

She clumsily put her hand on his chest and he was astounded by the feel of it without his armour. 

“You and I are energy, the same as the air is. This tavern and the stars in the sky are the same energy. Energy is alive and so therefore everything is alive in some way.” 

“This bench is alive?” He teased. 

“The bench is alive,” she confirmed. “It’s just called into a different shape, a different existence than you are. You can’t comprehend its existence…the way it might experience its life…and that’s ok,” she said, her voice slightly slurring around the edges. 

She leaned into him boldly and ran her fingers lightly through his hair, bringing out some of the curl that he tried so hard to tame. He groaned at the sensation and again as her hand brushed his ear and the backside of her fingers caressed his cheek. He held his breath as the tip of her thumb traced his lips. The slowness with which she moved prolonged the exquisite agony.

She leaned in closer, her breath on his face as she cupped it with her hand. 

“Your hair doesn’t comprehend what it feels like to be an ear and your ear doesn’t…comprehend what it feels like to be…your lips…your lovely...lips…you are lovely…am I making any sense?” She asked, looking up at him through heavy lids. 

“Yes,” he whispered, desperate for her to make that last small movement.

“Cullen…” she moaned breathlessly. 

“Yes,” he said. _Yes, whatever you need._

She licked her lips and rested her forehead against his, making the anticipation of the moment achingly delicious. His hands ghosted up to rest at the top of her arms. 

He waited in breathless anticipation… 

And waited… 

“My Lady?” He whispered.

... 

“Evelyn?” He said a little louder only to be answered by a soft snore. 

 _Maker’s Breath! You’ve got to be kidding me!_

His hands, still at her shoulders, gently pushed her away from him until her head, no longer held up by his forehead, dropped down to her chest. 

She was out cold. 

He quickly adjusted her so that she was comfortably resting against him and raked one hand through his hair as he groaned, breathing to let the adrenaline regulate again in his body. 

 _Maker_ , he thought. How had he not known how intoxicated she was? He’d thought that her stilted words at the end had been a flustered response to their nearness. 

No, she _had_ been about to kiss him. In that, he knew he’d not been mistaken. 

He laughed at himself, the only thing he could do in the situation, and scooped her up into his arms, having decided to see her safely to her rooms. 

Unlatching the small garden gate with his knee, he stuck to the shadows as much as possible, heading toward the door to the cellar instead of the main hall. 

The guard saw them approach and ran forward. 

“Ser! Is everything alright, Ser?” He said as soon as he recognized the Commander. 

“It’s fine, John. She’s had a very hard time in Crestwood and I’m afraid that it’s caught up to her. I’m sure she wouldn’t want anyone to see her this way, so I’m trying to get her safely to her rooms without prying eyes. Please keep this to yourself, would you?” Cullen gave the soldier a passable excuse. 

“Ser, of course! I heard about Crestwood, nasty business. Maker bless the Herald, Ser.” John said and opened the door to the cellar to let them through. 

Coming up into Josephine’s empty office, Cullen was able to get to the Inquisitor’s room without further notice. Without his armour, carrying her up the stairs was a breeze thanks to his training. 

He placed her gently upon the bed, pulling the blankets from the other side over to cover her. 

He went over to her hearth and went to work lighting a fire to keep her warm until she woke, jealous of her ability to do it in a blink. 

When the room was warm and he was sure that she was alright, he sat at the edge of her bed for a brief moment and couldn’t help but become aware that the more he learned of her, spent time with her, the more hopelessly in love with her he became. There was no help for it. 

Even with how the night had ended, he was so grateful that he’d taken the chance to be there with her. 

He was healing, he realized, because of her. He was breaking it all open and finding his way and he couldn’t help but wonder if she had any idea that she was creating the space for it to happen or if she was just an unconscious catalyst, causing chain reactions wherever she went. 

Without regret, he leaned over her sleeping form and lightly kissed her cheek. 

“Sweet dreams, Inquisitor,” he said softly and then left to find his own bed. 

 

* * *

 

The next morning a messenger had come early to call Cullen to a meeting in the War Room. Breathing a sigh of relief as he donned his armour, he headed out into the courtyard and into the main Keep to meet his fellow advisors without delay. 

He was anxious to see the Inquisitor again and was slightly concerned that she might have a significant hangover. His stomach was in a knot as he opened the heavy door to the War Room. 

“Good Morning,” he greeted Josephine and Leliana, who were intensely looking over a report. Leliana lifted her hand in return, but let him know that they'd be a moment. 

He then walked over to the Inquisitor, who looked astonishingly refreshed. 

“Good Morning, Inquisitor,” he said raising an eyebrow in question. 

“Good Morning, Commander,” she said loudly enough for the others to hear. 

“Elfroot and Rashvine,” she whispered conspiratorially. 

“I’m so sorry for last night, it was all such a haze. If I said or did anything…I rarely let it get that out of hand…”she whispered, obviously embarrassed. 

A wry smile graced his lips. “My Lady, you were all poise and grace as usual.” 

At her scoff, “You were fine…and happy. I was glad to be there,” he added. 

“Thank you for seeing me back safely…it _was_ you, wasn’t it?” 

“It was me, Inquisitor.”

“Evelyn,” she corrected, wanting to hear him say it. 

“Evelyn,” he repeated, loving the sound of it on his tongue. 

Josephine cleared her throat and called for attention. 

“I’m afraid we have a problem,” the Ambassador began…

 

 


	9. Closing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen and Evelyn are on their way to handle a critical situation for the Inquisition and everything is revealed in the process.
> 
> The ninth time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn before their kiss on the battlements - (and how!)

“We have a problem,” Josephine announced.

“What is it, Ambassador?” Cullen asked, concern clear on his face.

“We’ve just had word from my contact on the Council of Heralds in Empress Celene’s court, that they are being very selective about whom they invite to the Winter Palace. Due to the nature of the talks, all members of the royal court are being limited as to the number of invitations that they can issue to those _not_ of the Court of Orlais.” She paused to ascertain that everyone was paying attention.

“We need to be at the Winter Palace if we are to stop Corypheus. Leliana has discovered that Duke Gaspard de Chalons, the rival to the Orlesian throne, is one of the last holders of a foreign invitation. He isn’t likely to offer one to the Inquisition who has, so far, offered support to Celene”.

“Why can’t things ever be easy?” Evelyn huffed, looking over at Cullen.

He nodded in agreement. In this war, every battle was an uphill battle.

They held their gaze for a moment, his golden eyes molten as they locked with hers.

“Inquisitor?”

“Hmm?” Josephine’s voice seemed to shock Evelyn back to the present. “I’m so sorry, I was, ah, just thinking of the gravity of the situation.” She coughed. “Please, do continue.”

“Yes, well, as I was saying – Leliana has also been able to find out that Duke Gaspard owes a very large debt to Duke Cyril de Montfort, one big enough to perhaps be used to persuade him to issue an invitation to a delegation from the Inquisition. I’ve spoken to Duke Cyril and he has agreed to use his influence with Duke Gaspard _if_ the Inquisition can handle a problem for him.” Josephine stated.

“What kind of problem? What could it be if he can’t handle it himself? From what I understand, Duke Cyril is a man of some considerable resources.” Cullen asked.

“Actually, it’s a problem that the Inquisition is uniquely suited for, so it works completely to our advantage.” Leliana answered for Josephine.

At the lift of Cullen’s brow, she continued. “It’s a rift. A new one that’s opened up right in the middle of Duke Cyril’s country estate in the Exalted Plains. When the demons came from it, the people evacuated and Mages were found to magically seal the house until we could be petitioned to take care of it.”

Josephine smiled in satisfaction. “So this arrangement would serve us both. Duke Cyril jumps the que and has his rift seen to right away and he uses his influence with Duke Gaspard to get us the invitation to the Winter Palace.”

“How long has the rift been active, Josephine?” Evelyn asked. Cullen didn’t think that she was nervous, by now rifts were old hat. Still, if the rift had been open long and the house sealed, there might be quite a few demons stuck inside.

“It’s my understanding that it has been active for seventeen days now, Inquisitor,” she answered.

Cullen repeated his thought out loud to the group and added, “If we are to send the Inquisitor and her crew to handle this rift, I would recommend a small force to accompany them as support for whatever they might face in there.”

“I think that’s an excellent suggestion, Commander. I’ll be bringing Bull, Dorian and Cole on this mission, I think, and we’d welcome your people.” Evelyn said, grateful for the backup.

“And me.” Cullen asserted.

“Pardon Me?” Evelyn choked.

“I’ll be going with you, Inquisitor. Captain Rylen is still in the Western Approach, so I will accompany the men.” He said remaining firm. “Cassandra will see that training is maintained while I’m gone.”

“Yes, ah, very good, Commander. That sounds like a sound plan. We should leave as soon as possible. Can your troops be ready to leave at first light?” She stammered slightly.

“I’ll see to it, Inquisitor.” Cullen said, unable to hide his smile from her.

Turning to Josephine and Leliana, “Is there any other business currently on the table?” He asked them.

“None, Commander.” Josephine answered. “This is the most pressing issue currently.”

“Very good. I’ll go see to the preparations.” He said and bowed deeply to them all before leaving the War Room.

He was surprised that his idea had been accepted so easily, They all new that Cassandra could have accompanied the troops, but the fact that he’d gotten away with claiming a spot in the mission filled him with sweet anticipation, both for the opportunity to leave Skyhold for a time, and the prospect of spending more time with the Inquisitor.

 _There might be some benefit to this whole convoluted mess after all_ , he thought. 

 

* * *

 

“Thompson,” Cullen looked at the recruit who was helping him with supplies for the journey. “I need to speak with the Inquisitor right away. She’s likely in the Undercroft, speaking with Harritt or Dagna. Please ask her to meet me in my office at her earliest convenience.”

With a swift bow, Thompson was off and Cullen packed the last of the provisions in the crates and then headed to his office to await her arrival.

It was time. He couldn’t put it off any longer. If they were going to spend days traveling together, she was going to need to know about the lyrium withdrawal, just in case anything should happen. He wasn’t expecting any incident, but for the sake of the Inquisition, she had to be told.

It terrified him. He couldn’t help but agonize over what her response would be?

In this addiction, he was always so unsure that he was doing the right thing, if he was giving his best to the Inquisition, to her, but his gut told him to cast off his lyrium leash.

He was enduring it and he just hoped that she could see past it, to the man he was so desperately trying to be.

He stood behind his desk and brought out the box that held his last ration of lyrium, the one he had decided not to take nearly eight months ago.

As he opened the box and stared at its contents, he felt the familiar shake run through his body. After all this time, the desire for it, the gut wrenching and ravenous desire for it was still there, only minutely reduced after all this time. How many years before it became a dull ache? How many lifetimes before it became a passing thought?

A sharp knock on the door brought his eyes up from the lyrium and to the sapphire gaze of the Inquisitor who had let herself in.

“You wanted to speak with me, Commander?” She asked curiously, obviously having noticed his intensity a moment earlier.

“Yes, Inquisitor. Thank you.” He replied before launching into his confession.

“As leader of the Inquisition; you…” He took a moment and let out a deep sigh. “There’s something I must tell you.”

“Whatever it is, I’m willing to listen.” Her voice and eyes held such sincerity; perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as he’d feared.

“Right, thank you.” He said and cleared his throat.

Cullen turned the box around and showed her its contents.

“Lyrium grants Templars our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer – some go mad, others die.” He noticed her eyes go wide with alarm.

“We have secured a reliable source of lyrium for the Templars here,” he assured her, “but I…no longer take it.”

There. It was done.

“You stopped?” She asked tentatively.

He nodded. “When I joined the Inquisition. It’s been months now.”

“Cullen, if this can kill you…” Her voice shook slightly.

He laughed at that. “It hasn’t yet. After what happened in Kirkwall…I couldn’t.”

He looked at her then, “I will not be bound to the Order – or that life – any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.” He stood resolute.

“But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to…watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”

“Are you in pain?” Her compassion nearly undid him.

“I can endure it.” She helped him with that. All the things she was asked to do, he could do no less.

“Thank you for telling me. I respect what you’re doing.” She offered him her support and he nearly bent in relief.

“Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisitions army must always take priority. Should something happen…I will defer to Cassandra’s judgment.” He acknowledged.

She came around his desk then, closed the box in front of him and placed her hand on his upon the desk.

“Cullen, if anyone can do this, it’s you. I believe in you. I have no doubt at all that we are in the best hands.”

Every cell in his body flooded with pride and joy. Did she have any idea how her words affected him?

“Thank you, Inquisitor,” he reiterated.

She smiled. “Evelyn, remember?”

“Evelyn.” He repeated.

“So, I will see you at first light?” She gifted him with a glorious smile.

“As you wish.” He smiled back just as brightly.

She turned with a wave and left him at his desk to finish his preparations. He slumped into his chair and laughed out loud thinking that she never ceased to surprise him. 

 

* * *

 

The journey to the Exalted Plains was easy and uneventful. There were no bandit attacks, no sign of Red Templars or random demon spotting. Cullen and Evelyn found themselves with ample time to talk during both the ride and at camp. Though their conversations were private enough, they were never quite alone and so a chance for Cullen to explore his feelings with the Inquisitor never came.

Still, the scenery was exquisite, the company, exceptional and Cullen found himself thoroughly enjoying it all. There were shades of green in the magnificent trees and rich foliage of the Plains that he would never find in the Frostback Mountains or, he had to admit, most places in Fereldan, as that country boasted better browns and yellows.

He enjoyed the rich display and noticed Evelyn’s delight was equal to his own. Often, she would extend her arm out as they passed a nearby tree and let her fingers brush the dewy leaves. She’d giggle at every sighting of a chocolate brown nug and once stopped the whole party to watch a small herd of halla grazing near a stream.

At night, the temperature was so mild and the stars so bright that the group chose to forgo the tents and lay their pallets on the springy, moss covered ground together. The troops traded stories and sang bawdy songs with each other, while Cullen brought out his pan pipes, hoping to entertain the Inquisitor after learning of her love of music.

The journey itself _was_ easy, but they all felt the mild apprehension about the unknown elements of what they were journeying toward.

They arrived at the enormous Montfort estate on the morning of the third day. The main house was a sprawling mansion done in the classic Orlesian style, the façade immaculately well kept, though it was obviously an ancient estate. It must have been in the family for generations and their pride in the property was obvious. Two guest houses flanked the main one.

Cullen understood that they were considered guest houses and yet they could have been stand-alone estates, rich enough for any Orlesian noble.

It was no wonder that Duke Cyril wanted this dealt with. It was akin to a rift opening up in the Winter Palace itself.

The only sign that something was amiss was the state of the grounds. It now being three weeks since the rift first opened, no one had come close enough to the house to tend the lawns or gardens and so the wilderness of the Exalted Plains had already begun to reclaim the grounds. Rashvine had begun to climb the outside walls and the grass, now over-long, sported shoots of elfroot and the puff balls of dandelions gone to seed.

They knew that the Mages had sealed the main house only and so they did a preliminary sweep of the other two houses and outbuildings, finding nothing but a den of opportunistic fennecs in one of the garden sheds.

Moving to the doors of the main house, the five companions and the contingent of soldiers braced themselves for what they’d find inside.

The Inquisitor spoke the words to release the binding spell on the house and in an instant they were swarmed by demons, wisp wraiths and shades, pouring out from the doors and smashing through the glass windows on all floors.

The Inquisition fought valiantly and under Cullen’s command the soldiers prevented any demons from making it off site.

In the end, there had only been one casualty, a recruit who had been set upon by a Hunger demon that literally consumed him faster than the others could respond. It hadn’t gotten another chance, however, having been destroyed immediately by avenging comrades.

Cullen couldn’t help but think that there was something different about this rift. They had faced unusual creatures – Hunger and Sloth demons, Arcane Horrors and Revenants, the last two being the possessed remains of the Mages and servants that had perished when the rift first opened. There had been a surprising lack of Pride, Despair, Terror or Rage demons

“Curious, perhaps this particular rift connects to a different realm of the Fade than others and so a particular grouping of demons might be attracted to it.” Dorian shrugged when Cullen mentioned it.

“I have no idea, of course. This is more Solas’ area of expertise. Alas, even as incredibly charming, handsome and intelligent as I am, I cannot know everything.” He winked, unfazed by the battle and seemingly invigorated.

Cullen looked over at the Inquisitor who was sipping a healing potion slowly and resting against one of the stone garden walls.

He went to her, concerned. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Thank you, Cullen.” She said wearily. “That was just…unexpected.”

She looked at him in a way that let him know that she was about to make a confession and so he leaned in to better hear her whisper.

“I’ve never faced those kinds of demons before. I didn’t know how to fight them properly. I feel as though I should have been better prepared…and poor James,” she said, obviously thinking about the recruit lost to the Hunger demon. “…this was supposed to be a routine rift closing.”

She sighed. “I suppose I’m just facing the reminder that there’s so much that I still don’t know.”

He said nothing to her, knowing instinctively that she didn’t need his words. Instead he took a spot beside her on the wall and slid them both down until they were sitting on the grass. He held her hand in his firm grip, giving her his strength and support.

She let out a stunted sob and turned into him then, curling in under his arm and resting her head in the crook where his shoulder met his chest.

“Just give me a moment.” She whispered.

Cullen acknowledged her by reaching over with his other hand to hold the back of her head, his fingers softly stroking through her hair at the base.

Her breathing began to ease and, true to her word, after a moment, she looked up and gave him a tentative smile.

“Thank you, Cullen.”

“Anytime you need. I don’t always have the right words, but you know that I’m here.”

“I do,” she whispered as she made to get up from the ground.

Cullen was faster and reached out to offer her a hand to get up, which she took without hesitation. In fact, the hesitation only came when he tried to let go. Her fingers lingered for a fraction of a second and, on the trail of a sigh, her eyes seemed to hold something in them that went straight to his core…and then it was gone and she was making her way over, through the garden, to the companions that were waiting for them by the unsealed doors.

Cullen let out a breath and jogged over to join them.

 

* * *

 

The plan was simple. Most of the demons and Fade creatures had been defeated in the battle when the seal had been broken but, still expecting that there would be stragglers, the soldiers were making another sweep of the grounds and outbuildings and others surrounded the main mansion in case any should try to escape.

Inside, the crew split into Mage/Warrior pairings with Dorian and Iron Bull set to secure the east wing and Evelyn and Cullen ready to secure the west wing.

Cole was to use stealth to explore the rooms quickly and quietly to locate the rift and gather any information about it that he could before finding the teams and leading them to it.

It seemed to be quiet enough as Cullen led the way through the corridor of the west wing. Twice he and Evelyn encountered wisp wraiths that were so easily dispatched that neither felt the need to comment on them.

As they neared the corridor to the private family quarters, Cole appeared before them, causing both to jump slightly in surprise. It was truly remarkable how quiet and invisible he could make himself.

“I found the rift,” he said simply. “It’s behind a door. We should open it together. It feels strange.” With that he started off, leading the way down the hall and into the main suite of Duke Cyril’s personal chambers.

The mark on Evelyn’s hand started to spark and flare as they entered the suite and she moved toward the bedroom door.

“Well, it’s definitely in there.” She laughed, shaking her hand to try and dispel the slight ache that often accompanied a flare up of the rift energies.

“It doesn’t feel very big in comparison with the others. If there hadn’t been three weeks for them to come through, I doubt we would have had to deal with many demons at all.” She chewed her lip in thought.

“What do you think, Cullen?” She asked. “We’re only one member short of the number we usually have to handle much bigger rifts. Do we chance it with the three of us or would you prefer that Cole find Dorian and Bull?”

“If we open the door, can you put up a barrier fast enough that we could assess what’s on the other side before engaging?” Cullen offered.

“Excellent suggestion. That should be simple enough.” She sounded pleased, obviously as enthusiastic as he was to have this whole situation over with and be back on their way to Skyhold.

“Everyone ready?” She said, looking over her shoulder as she inched closer toward the door.

Cullen and Cole settled into their battle stances and Evelyn tentatively checked the handle of the door. It gave silently and she threw the door open quickly with the spell word already on her lips to put the barrier in place.

In the same moment there was a high shriek and the door slammed shut again with such a force that it sent them all skittering across the floor and slamming into the far wall of the room.

Cullen groaned at the impact and looked over to the Inquisitor, who was still crumpled on the ground, and then to Cole, who was on his hands and knees and crawling over toward them.

Cullen reclaimed his sword from nearby, in case what was on the other side of the door decided to come through. As it was, a strange fog began to fill the room, blurring the edges of the walls and obscuring the doorways.  

Cole lifted the Inquisitor by the arms to stand, one of her hands clutching her temple protectively as she allowed him to steady her.

Cullen watched as Cole’s body went stiff and his eyes snapped to his.

“Empty and endless…It is haunting and hollow…” He said before shaking his head, confused and looking back and forth between Cullen and Evelyn.

It was the Inquisitor that recovered her speech first.

“Cole,” she snapped. “Go to the east wing; find Iron Bull and Dorian, quickly.”

Cole looked as though he wanted to say something, but the confusion on his face held firm. He looked to Cullen, who nodded, and just like that, the spirit was invisible and gone from the room with a soft whoosh.

Evelyn promptly crumpled again and Cullen flew to her in alarm.

“Inquisitor!” He shouted and gathered her up into his arms.

His senses immediately were on fire as he held her, every nerve prickled.

She whimpered and his hands floated over her body to check for injury.

Finding nothing, his hands framed her face.

“Inquisitor, what is it? Are you alright?” He asked anxiously, trying to discover the source of her distress.

“Cullen,” she whispered as she began to claw at his vest. “I don’t want to do it anymore!”

She caught him off guard, looking at him hungrily, a look that he’d only fantasized about up until that moment.

“I don’t want to pretend,” she continued, “or live one more moment putting my life at risk without having what I want as my reward. Haven’t I given everything to the Inquisition? Don’t I deserve something for myself?” Her voice was sultry and full of need.

The fire in Cullen’s body concentrated deep in his belly.

This was all he’d ever wanted. Her. Her wanting him.

As she let her hands roam his body, he struggled to find clarity as everything he ever knew seemed to implode within him and there was only her in his vision, his mind, her sweet, shell pink lips forming the words, begging him to kiss her, have her, own her.

He growled as ferociously as any beast and pulled her up to pin her against the wall, every fibre of his being shook with restraint as the fire in his belly was stoked to engulf him by her hands and the encouragement she whispered in his ear, the hiss of those words driving him mad with want.

“Kiss me, Cullen. Kiss me and I’m yours forever.” She hummed, taking hold of his earlobe with her teeth.

He shuddered in near release, the intensity more than he could imagine.

“Tell me that you want me, Cullen.” She gasped.

“Maker!” He prayed.

“Yes.” His voice shook. “Maker, yes. I want you.”

He growled and took her mouth like a feral animal, sucking, biting, consuming, as she matched him in that endless need. He fell into the kiss as though it were hollow and endless, it could never be enough. Like an itch he might scratch until it bled, but could never get deep enough, he wanted more. He opened himself up fully to her, feeling her body, her aura, her magic and her being.

That was all that was needed for clarity to break through, to recognize what he needed to.

Cullen reached behind him, withdrew the dagger from his belt and slid it swiftly between the Inquisitor’s ribs.

She gasped and broke the kiss, a look of rage on her face before she collapsed silently to the floor.

Cole’s previous statement echoed in his mind as he watched the image of the woman he loved turn from the pale, ethereal beauty to the purple, horned form of a Desire demon. _Empty and endless. It is haunting and hollow._ – It was the demon Cole had been talking about and when Cullen had felt the dissonant song in her aura, he’d been struck by the memory of being held by such creatures at Kinloch Hold.

Evelyn’s aura was resonant and full of life, while the aura of the Desire demon had set his teeth on edge with its discordant vibration.

He stepped over the slumped body and ran for the door to the bedroom, as the fog had begun to dissipate and the doors were once again clear. He threw it open only to come up against the barrier that she’d actually been able to put in place, though she’d been pulled through to the other side of it.

He watched in horror as an almost identical scene as the one he’d experienced played out before his eyes, only it was his image that another Desire demon wore.

He watched that version of himself circle a confused, but responding, Evelyn. He watched as fingers, that looked like his, traced along her collarbone. Lips, that looked like his, pressed to the back of her neck. He watched her shudder as he had.

Cullen pounded against the barrier, trying to break the spell.

A sultry laugh came from the wounded creature on the floor.

“I can help you, handsome Templar. I can give you the power that you need to be strong enough to dispel the barrier and take your woman. Won’t that be good? Don’t you want to be her hero? It purred.

Without a second thought, Cullen picked up his sword and ran the demon through once and for all, silencing its promises forever as it fractured and dissolved into the green light of the Fade.

Picking up his shield, he bashed at the barrier relentlessly, using his Templar skills, weakened as they were without lyrium, to bring down the barrier.

“You cannot have her,” became his mantra and he worked, bringing it down in only a minute.

He rushed in with a roar, tackling her seducer as she cried out, thinking that Cullen himself was being attacked.

“My love!” It cried to her for aid.

“Inquisitor,” Cullen screamed, kicking the demon back away from her as it rushed toward her again. “Evelyn, it’s not me!”

She stared at him as though she were fighting her own battle in her mind.

“It’s a Desire demon. It’s not me,” he repeated as he took her face in his hands.

“I’m right here. Open yourself and listen to its song. Fight it!”

He turned and met the demon blow for blow, his energy starting to wane.

Suddenly, the familiar sound of ice cracking filled the air and the demon froze in its tracks, iced solid.

Cullen didn’t hesitate for a moment before bringing his shield down upon it so hard that the frozen body shattered into thousands of pieces before dissolving and was pulled back into the rift.

In another instant the rift was closed and Evelyn sagged against him.

“Sweet Maker…I…Cullen…”

“Shhh…it’s alright. We’re safe. They’re no more.” He rocked her back and forth, whispering to her until she was calm.

It dawned on him that if he hadn’t been at Kinloch Hold, if he hadn’t had experience with fighting Desire demons, Evelyn might have been lost to him forever, never mind his own fate. He said a silent prayer to the Maker and Andraste.

In that moment, Dorian, Bull and Cole rushed into the room, already battle weary, but ready to act if they were needed. Upon seeing the couple and seeing the residue of the rift left behind on the floor, they all relaxed. Dorian flopped onto the large bed in the middle of the room.

“What in Andraste’s Name was that?” He huffed. “I just had the strangest demon attack and didn’t even know it until Cole brought me out of it to find a lavender coloured she-beast where…something else was supposed to be.” He reported with disgust.

“Me too, Boss,” Bull confirmed. “It was so real…well, it felt like it should be, but it was too good to be true and I knew there was some weird shit going on.” His eyes darted to Dorian before coming back to rest on Evelyn. “I used my Ben-Hassrath training to focus my mind and killed the demon. Then I came looking for these two and met them in the hall,” he stuck his thumb toward Dorian and Cole.

“They were Desire demons.” Cullen clarified. He looked at Evelyn and nowhere else as he continued. “They offer you the greatest desire of your heart, what you want, who you want, most in the world, they give you an illusion of it so real that you can hardly tell the difference and then they feed off of your reaction to it.”

He saw her eyes open wide and heard her breath hitch, knowing that he’d seen what she had desired.

He heard the same from Bull and Dorian and from the corner of his eye he saw them look at each other.

Cole spoke to the two men then. “You both have the same hurt. You’ve tried to be what you’re not. You should try to be yourselves together. You’d be happier. It’s what you both want.”

Cullen didn’t see or hear their reaction to Cole’s words. He was too lost in Evelyn’s eyes, in the look of acceptance there.

Cole started to speak to Cullen and Evelyn. “You…”

Cullen held his hand up to stop him. “We know, Cole.”

Evelyn stepped forward and ran her hand down Cullen’s arm before speaking. “Let’s go home.” She suggested. “I need to think, but then we’ll need to talk.” She added quietly.

“We will,” he confirmed gently.

They all turned then and left the Montfort estate behind, all of them a little shaken and all of them changed.

“I like helping people.” Cole muttered with a little smile as he followed behind them.


	10. The Maker's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from the Exalted Plains, Evelyn and Cullen discuss their feelings and then...
> 
> It happens!
> 
> The tenth time that Cullen wanted to kiss Evelyn and the first time that he (FINALLY!) did.

It was a long way back to Skyhold, with no more time to talk privately than on the way to the Exalted Plains. In fact, the core group of companions were nearly silent the entire time, retiring to their tents early in the evening and sitting contemplatively during their meals. Bull and Dorian hadn’t spoken at all and only looked intensely at each other when the other wasn’t looking.

The soldiers noticed the odd behaviour and had started whispering amongst themselves, wondering what could have happened inside the estate to disturb the friends in such a way.

The Commander had  sternly set them straight, telling the Inquisition troops that they’d fought demons, closed the rift and that was all that anyone need concern themselves with.

Only Cole had seemed bright and bubbly on the journey. Sometimes he could be seen giggling quietly, rubbing his hands together as though he was waiting for something to happen before his eyes. It disturbed them all just a little bit.

When they arrived at Skyhold, all five companions dismounted.  Where they might usually refuse the aid, choosing to care for their mounts themselves, this time they untied their packs and let the stable hands lead the horses away to care for them, then headed up the stairs to the upper courtyard, happy to be back home.

Without a word to the group, Dorian began to climb the next flight of stairs to the main hall.

A hand snaked out, alarmingly fast, and halted the Tevinter’s movement within a heartbeat.

They all froze at the sight of the Iron Bull, every muscle tense, holding onto the Mage.

“Just tell me now,” he said through his teeth, the chilled evening air misting his breath. “Yes or no, Vint?”

That was it. No one was oblivious to his meaning. His simple statement had been said with so much shocking heat that the whole group held their collective breath.

There was a pause and they could see the thoughts as they swam across Dorian’s smoky eyes. The muscle in his jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth.

Drawing himself up, spine straight and proud, he took a step forward.

“Yes.”

He was led away by Bull toward the tavern without any further preamble while Cullen, Evelyn and Cole were left on the steps to let that breath back out.

“What just…?” Evelyn looked blankly at Cullen, who himself was wide eyed and could only shrug.

They both turned to Cole, who was grinning widely. “They’ll both be happy now. Feelings fit, fixed _and_ free, tender _and_ rough, spontaneous _and_ disciplined.

Cole looked at Cullen and Evelyn for a brief moment before giving them an innocent smile and disappearing without warning, as he was prone to do.

“Well, that was…” Evelyn said, another clipped sentence, and just shook her head. Cullen laughed.

With only the two of them remaining, he took her hand and placed a gentle kiss across her knuckles.

“A lot has happened. There’s still a lot to process about what happened. I think that’s what they’re trying to do…I hope it works out for them.” He said sincerely. “I think that you – we – need to do that in our own ways. Perhaps we could use a little privacy.”

She said nothing in response, but nodded with downcast eyes.

Looking to see that no one in particular was watching them, he slid his fingers along her jaw line in a slow caress and trailed them underneath her chin, easing her head up until she was looking at him.

“Sleep. Think… Then we’ll talk. Alright?”

She nodded once again, but looked slightly more relaxed.

Bowing deeply to her, “Good Evening, Inquisitor,” he whispered.

“Good Evening, Commander,” she responded, slipped into the main hall and made her way toward her chambers.

Cullen remained on the steps for a moment longer, feeling utterly exhilarated and exhausted at the same time. There was no chance that he’d be able to sleep that night unless he worked out some of the energy that kept his body and brain abuzz.

Turning away from the main Keep, he headed toward the training area. It was empty, of course, as the recruits and officers were either having their evening meal or enjoying leisure time with the rest of the Inquisition.

Divesting himself of his armour and tunic, keeping only his leather breeches and gloves on, he picked up the quarterstaff that had been left against the wall of the Quartermaster’s office.

He let the weapon roll between his fingers, spinning it with ease and enjoying the focus required to keep the proper balance.

 _Balance?_ He huffed, thinking about the word. It certainly didn’t feel as though he’d experienced much of that lately. It felt as though he’d been constantly kept of kilter.

In command of the Inquisition’s army, he was solid as a rock. Even with the lyrium withdrawal, he still knew his place, his duties and all the expectations therein.

With Evelyn, there were times when she was like the breeze that lifts the leaf from the ground and carries it across the skies, he was adrift with her, feeling free and alive for the first time… And yet, when she was thrown into dangerous situations, his whole body felt as though it had turned to lead and he felt handicapped by uncertainty and fear.

 _We’re at war. What would I do if I found her, only to lose her?_ He thought.

It was far too late for that to change how he wanted her in his life. Come what may, if he was to be in a relationship with her or not, anything that befell her now or in the future would destroy him.

With a heavy grunt, Cullen whirled the quarterstaff around him and put all of his frustrations into a massive blow that rocked the weighted dummy so that it teetered a moment.  Again and again he hit it until he heard seams rip and sand began to spill out onto the ground.

He dropped the staff and leaned over with hands braced on his knees, breathing heavily. He would have to confess to Cassandra about the dummy in the morning.

He ran a hand across his face, through his hair and then began to rub at the knot at the back of his neck. He felt the physical release, but his mind was still reeling in so many directions.

Knowing how she felt about him didn’t necessarily mean that she would choose a relationship with him. She was the Inquisitor; she held more responsibility than any other person in all of Thedas. She was trying to save the whole world. His mind couldn’t help but question who he was to try to have a part in her life.

His thoughts became decidedly melancholy. She deserved a King at her side. She deserved a diplomat, charming and smooth. She deserved someone who was whole, no battle scars or lingering afflictions…and yet, if the Maker hadn’t designed for them to be together, why did his soul feel as though it had found its twin? If she wasn’t his, why did the center of her forehead meet up perfectly with the position of his lips? If she wasn’t made for him, why did her aura cause his own to thrum and expand with joy and strength whenever she was near him now?

Every cell in his body existed to worship her as the perfect embodiment of love in this world. How could she not be his?

She had seen him in times of the most extreme stress, she knew of his struggles and she had never blinked, never made him feel anything but supported and important.

Cullen gathered his discarded armour and clothing, climbed the steps to the battlements and headed toward his tower.

If Evelyn chose to accept him, could he be the man she needed? His thoughts raced with ideas as he entered his office, put his armour on its stand and climbed the ladder to his bedroom.

Collapsing onto his bed, he threw and arm across his eyes and envisioned himself at her side, commanding her army, being her confidant, her lover, being a buffer when she needed space and supporting her as she changed the world.

Something sparked in his mind and he realized that aside from being her lover, he was already willingly doing all those things.

 _Perhaps all of this was what the Maker truly had intended all along_ , he thought.

He mused on how long the Maker’s hand had been steering him toward this and future outcomes? He’d already thought, earlier, about his experience with the Desire demons at Kinloch Hold and how the wisdom gained from that experience had allowed him to save their lives at the Montfort estate, but now he looked at the rest of his history with scrutiny.

He had joined the Templars at thirteen in the same year that Evelyn had been taken to the Circle at eight. He’d been stationed at Kinloch Hold during the blight and when the circle fell to abominations and demons, he’d been rescued by the Hero of Fereldan. This had been the beginning of his trials. Unable to stay at Fereldan’s Circle, he’d been sent to Kirkwall where he’d met Varric and Hawke, among others, who were still instrumental in current events. In Kirkwall he’d learned about himself and what did and did not want, under the command of Knight-Commander Meredith. He’d been at ground zero of the Mage/Templar war and had chosen to leave the Order in order to help, what would be, the Inquisition bring peace to Fereldan, to Orlais…to Thedas. Had the Maker’s hand been present all the while?

He thought back to the first moment that he’d laid eyes on Evelyn. It seemed so long ago, though it hadn’t yet been a year. He couldn’t imagine his life without her in it.

If any one of those events in his life before Haven had been different, he would never have found her or known her. If anything at all had been different, he would have been a very different man and he suddenly had an epiphany that he very much wanted to be the man that he was now.

In hindsight, seeing the Maker’s design was easy…knowing where it was guiding him in the future, less so.

 _I’m willing to go where you lead me_ , Cullen offered the Maker, should He be listening to his thoughts.

A kind of peace came over his thoughts. Tomorrow he and Evelyn would talk and he could rest for a while, knowing that the outcome was already in the Maker’s hands.

He fell asleep reciting the Chant of Light and for the first time in a long time, had a dreamless rest.

 

* * *

 

Waking in the morning, Cullen knew that the day could change his life, even more than it already had been.

He paid extra attention to his morning routine, training with his recruits early and washing immediately afterward. He wore his best leathers, brushed the fur of his cloak and tamed the curls on his head so that the blonde locks gleamed in perfect order. Clean and bright, the streaks of copper would be visible in the sunlight.

Finishing, Cullen laughed at himself as he made his way down the ladder to his office; it had been a very long time since he’d primped like a callow youth.

Setting himself up at his desk, he tried to bring his full attention to his work. There were a number of pressing reports that needed to be dealt with before other, time sensitive ones arrived on his desk.  It was no use, however, as the words on each page began to blur and his mind began to wander as he imagined the Inquisitors smile.

He next endeavored to organize troop movements, but instead found himself running through every scenario that their conversation might include.

Recognizing that work would be nearly impossible until his ‘business’ with Evelyn was finished, Cullen decided to walk the battlements to get some air and perspective.

About to ask Jim, the recruit who was standing guard outside his door, to inform him as soon as the Inquisitor came by, the door opened before he could get to it and the Inquisitor stood in the doorway.

They stood there a moment in silence together, the moment so full of weight and promise. There was no greeting between them.

“Was there something you needed?” Cullen asked, his voice betraying his own need for what was to come.

Evelyn rubbed her boot in a circle on the floor, watching its movement as she answered.

“I thought we could talk…” she said. “Alone?”

This was it.

“Alone?” He repeated, frustrated already with his own awkwardness when he’d planned to be so composed.

“I mean, of course,” he finished and gestured toward the opposite door from the one she’d entered.

“I was just about to walk the battlements. Would you care to join me?”

She gave Cullen a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

They wandered quietly through the rooms that still needed to be repaired and Cullen assumed that she, like him, was mentally preparing for what they were about to discuss.

As they came out onto the western battlements, the sunlight bathed Cullen’s face in warmth and the light wind carried that warmth away almost instantly, helping his anxiety a little.

He looked over at Evelyn, who walked beside him and rubbed at the building tension at the back of his neck.

“It’s a nice day,” he said, hoping to break the silence comfortably.

“What?” She turned to look at him as though he’d startled her from her thoughts.

Drawing on all his courage, he knew that time had run out, that the anticipation of this conversation had been distracting them both.

“It’s…” he blew out another breath. “There was something you wished to discuss.”

He made it a statement, rather than a question, not wanting to give either of them an excuse to backtrack.

Evelyn straightened her shoulders and looked him in the eye. He could see the struggle in her sapphire gaze.

“Cullen, I care for you, and…” She sighed heavily.

He was halfway to agony, halfway to hope. She could go in either direction still from that statement.

“What’s wrong?” He pressed.

“You left the Templar’s, but do you trust Mages?” She asked carefully. “Could you think of me as anything more?”

 _That’s what she’s concerned about?_ He thought. _That I can’t see past the fact that she’s a mage? Can she not see that I care about every part of who she is?_

“I could!” He blurted out. “I mean, I do…think of you…and what I might say in this sort of situation.” He couldn’t _stop_ thinking about it!

He put his head in his hands to try to bring his swirling thoughts to heel. Hadn’t he run through every scenario in his mind this morning? And yet he was completely blank and floundering in the face of its reality.

“What’s stopping you?” She asked gently.

“You’re the Inquisitor. We’re at war. And you…” He started rhyming off all the excuses that he’d run through the night before, but they all sounded hollow now.

“…I didn’t _think_ it was possible.” He confessed and inched his way in, toward her as she leaned against the stone wall of the battlements.

Evelyn’s face softened. “And yet I’m still here,” she informed him, the slightest smile reaching one corner of her mouth.

Cullen couldn’t take his eyes from that spot, that smile, those lips.

 “So you are…” He acknowledged. “It seems too much to ask, but I want to…”

He took another step forward, the fingers of one hand grazed her hip in a question, her body met his and melted into it, her answer.

He leaned in deeper, their breath mingled and their eyes slid closed.

“COMMANDER!” Shouted a voice from the left. Cullen felt Evelyn pull away instantly.

 _JIM!_ Cullen cursed the man.

“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana’s report,” the scout continued.

“What?” Cullen snapped, wishing for a moment that he had Evelyn’s talent for setting things on fire.

“Sister Leliana’s report,” Jim said, oblivious to what he was interrupting. “You wanted it delivered ‘without delay’.”

If looks could kill, Jim would have been in the Beyond already.

Something clicked as poor Jim looked behind the Commander to see the Inquisitor fidgeting uncomfortably.

As the scout looked back at the Commander with wide eyes, Cullen could almost hear the “Oh, shit!” that the poor man was undoubtedly thinking. Still, Cullen could find no pity for him as he mercilessly stared Jim down as though he could blast the man from the battlements with sheer force of will.

“Or…to your office…right.” Jim mumbled and backed away as quickly as possible, Cullen’s eyes on him until he retreated through the tower door.

Cullen could feel the movement behind him as Evelyn shuffled where she stood. He turned to see her stepping away as though she meant to leave.

“If you need to – “She began, but stopped with a gasp of surprise as Cullen’s lips captured hers in a kiss that claimed her for his own.

There had been no way that Cullen would have let her slip through his grasp again. Not even Corypheus could have stopped him from kissing her in that moment.

His lips were firm and persistent, nibbling where the smile had been earlier at the corner of her mouth, coaxing her lips to soften against his.

His large hands supported her frame as she teetered from shock, resting firmly on either side of her hips.

He groaned in deep satisfaction as her arms came around him, hands threading into his hair. Her body became liquid in his arms and moulded itself to his. Her gasp became a sigh and her mouth moved with equal hunger against his.

Cullen felt every molecule in his body come loose from their tethers and the joy of that moment mixed with all joy that had ever been experienced in all of the Maker’s created Universe. For the briefest moment in time, he could feel it all; his joy and her joy, just how right their being together was. He could see the creation of mutual love as it was happening, divine and incredible. He could feel the certainty of their victory over Corypheus, the revolution of change and peace that would come to Thedas, the family that they would create together…and there in the background, the Maker’s hand, not idle, but subtle.

Cullen would never be able to recall the details of that vision when he thought of it later. He would only remember the feeling of deep joy and connection he’d felt in that kiss.

He hesitantly broke the kiss and pulled back to look at the incredible woman in his arms.

“I’m sorry…” he said. _No, I’m not!_ “That was…” _Wonderful, magical, everything…_ “um…really nice.” He stared at her, completely unable to articulate himself.

Evelyn giggled and pulled him in closer once again.

“That was what I wanted,” she purred, sounding like the cat who got the cream.

Her energy wrapped his in a seductive embrace and her eyes on his lips invited him to kiss her again.

“Oh, good.” He whispered and leaned in again to claim her, slowly this time, in no hurry to rush the exquisite experience.

They kissed on the battlements for the rest of the morning, uncharacteristically ignoring reports and duties, lost in the beautiful exploration of each other’s mouths. Nothing existed outside of their blissful bubble for that short amount of time and no one who became a witness to it wished to take that from them, turning around and walking away to give them privacy or quietly slipping past to not disturb them.

As intensely private as Cullen was, nothing could have moved him. He was in the midst of a metamorphosis and surrendered himself, his past, his present and future to Evelyn and all that she was. He was discovering purpose and truth as though he had never felt those things before. All things became possible again.

To his delight, he soon discovered that this happened every time he kissed her.

_Thank the Maker._


	11. Follow for the Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The EPIC epilogue of this story that's been so close to my heart has been moved. It got too big for its britches and needed full story status of its own.

[Arranged Marriage](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4262499/chapters/9648753) is the title of the story that is, essentially the original epilogue of this one. I've loved this story, these characters and the whole Dragon Age universe so much that I'm excited to continue.

 

The series that I created for my Cullen and Evelyn can be found here: [Amor Vincit Omnia (Love Conquers All)](http://archiveofourown.org/series/281913) 

 

I had wanted to write for so long, but it was only through the support and encouragement that I received from everyone who read Longer Than I Should Admit, who kudo-ed and commented, that has made me feel like a writer. I appreciate it more than I can tell you.

 

Hoping to continue the journey together,

Kitty

SaloonMistress74

**Author's Note:**

> Please do let me know what you thought of the story. I've loved taking this creative journey with you!! Thank you all so much for reading and being with me in it.


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